


Chuck vs The Fight

by SalishSea



Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Post-Canon, Romance, charah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-01 05:55:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 37,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17238650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SalishSea/pseuds/SalishSea
Summary: Chuck Bartowski lost the love of his life when Sarah's memories were erased by a madman. In the end, she left him on the beach to go find herself, and disappeared. Two years later, after climbing out of his depression and scouring the country, he's finally found her, and he won't stop fighting until they're back together. CHARAH; CANON





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a CHARAH & CANON story. No fluff, but definitely romance and some action. It takes place two years after the series end.
> 
> I just watched the last episode of the series, Chuck vs The Goodbye. Like most Chuck fans, I wasn't happy with the way the series ended. However, this time I really paid attention to the energy of the last scene - Chuck and Sarah sitting on the beach - and had a change of heart. I won't go into my thinking in detail - each one of us could fill a book (pun intended) with our interpretation of that scene. But this time, when I "stepped back" from it I actually felt hope for them. And I'm pretty sure that is what the show writers intended. There are a lot of folks here who have written to that exact premise, and I have loved reading their stories. They help put the kind of closure on Chuck and Sarah that I would wish for them. The first couple of times I saw that episode I was mad. I know that anger always covers up some type of fear. Of course, in this situation, the fear was that Chuck and Sarah would not be able to get back together - that the romance and love they fought so hard for, would be denied. Isn't it amazing how we can become so invested in fictional stories and characters, that our emotions are so strongly driven. Yet, that's been the human experience around story telling for millennia. I think that is what drove me to write this story. I wanted to write about that fear and loss, about their individual weaknesses, about the strength they have together, about their indomitable wills which were so well characterized in the series, and — in the end — their romance.

The tall man stepped off the streets of Fairbanks, through the pub's battered door. The lighting was dim. The air, hot and moist. It smelled like stale beer and fried food and sweat. He stomped his boots on the threshold, knocking off the winter snow.

Conversation died. Every patron turned to watch him. He was a stranger and everyone knew it.

The door closed behind him and he felt a welcomed wash of warm air. He pulled off his gloves, unwrapped the scarf from around his face and unzipped his thick parka. He tried to rub warmth back into his fingers.

The tall man walked up to the bar. He had to duck to keep his head from hitting the slowly spinning fans hung from the low ceiling. He put both hands on the scarred, wooden counter. The bartender was at the far end talking to a customer. He waited. The bartender kept talking.

The hum of conversation resumed.

He waited.

The bartender didn't come.

"Hey," he said, looking at the bartender.

The bartender ignored him.

"Barkeep," he said.

The bartender stopped talking and looked at him.

"How about a drink?" he asked.

The bartender said something else to his customer, then walked over and asked, "What'll you have?"

"Beer. Long neck."

The bartender pulled out a brown bottle and popped off the cap, setting it down on the counter.

The tall man nodded, then said, "I'm looking for someone."

"So?" the bartender said.

"Maybe you can help me."

"I don't think so."

"Give it a try." A photograph and a fifty dropped to the bar.

The bartender didn't look down.

Another fifty landed on the bar.

The bartender looked at the picture. "Yeah. About a week ago. Surprised everyone. Won a big purse." The bartender looked up at the tall man. "What's she to you?"

"She has something of mine. I want it back. Know where she went?"

"Nah."

"Know anyone who does?"

The bartender nodded toward a skinny man sitting in a corner booth. His greasy hair was slicked back. He wore a tacky brown blazer, brown shirt and white tie, like a wiseguy wanna-be from the 70's. Two women, dressed like hookers, were wrapped around each of his arms.

"Ricky runs book around here. He might now."

The tall man took the picture, left the beer and walked across the room.

"You Ricky?"

The table went silent. Ricky and the two women looked up. "Yeah," Ricky said. He gave the tall man a hard look.

The tall man held up the photo. "You know where she was heading next?"

"Hey, man. I don't know you, so piss off."

The tall man was used to assholes like Ricky. He'd been running into a lot of them over the last six months. If there was anything constant in America, from Florida to Michigan and all states in between, it was that there were assholes in abundance.

The tall man threw a hundred on the table.

"Like I said, I don't know you," Ricky said. "You can take your money and shove it up your ass."

The tall man loomed over the table. He slowly leaned down. The two women let go of Ricky's arms and pushed themselves as far back in the booth as they could.

"Tell me, Ricky," the tall man said, his voice low and dark. "Do you know what the most dangerous thing in the world is?"

Ricky leaned back, his shoulders hunched. He swallowed, saying nothing.

"It's love. People will do anything for love. They'll fight off hoards, sell their souls, even sacrifice their lives. They'll hurt and maim and kill."

The tall man saw the sweat break out on Ricky's brow. His message had been received.

"Where was she going?"

Ricky fidgeted nervously in his seat. "There's a big gig in Vegas. A week from now. Lots of high rollers. Mega money. Said she might go there." He wiped his forehead with his shirt sleeve.

The tall man stood up slowly. He turned and walked toward the door, leaving the hundred on the table.

"You don't want to cross her," Ricky yelled at the tall man's back. "She's dangerous."

_Yes, she is,_ the tall man thought.  _The most dangerous thing in the world._

* * *

Chuck Bartowski adjusted his seat all the way back and closed his eyes. It was still too tight in coach to fit his tall frame. His ears popped as the jet gained altitude. A direct flight from Fairbanks to Las Vegas. If he was lucky, a direct flight to Sarah Walker.

Ricky's information put him only a week behind her. Always following a cold trail, Chuck hadn't been this close since he'd started looking for her a year ago.

For the first time in a long time he had a glimmer of hope. Hope that he might actually find her. Hope that he'd see her. Have a chance to talk to her. To tell her … what? He'd practiced a million different things to say. None of them were right.

Chuck had given up hope after the first year she'd been gone. He'd kept working at the Buy More. Financially, he didn't need to work. He owned the place, after all. But it kept his mind and body busy. He'd managed to not go completely catatonic thanks to his friends and family. Even Casey had helped, like a grounding rod. It seemed his relationship with Gertrude Verbanski had gotten him in touch with his lady feelings.

Only Casey and Sarah knew Chuck had downloaded the Intersect again. When he'd defused the bomb under Beckman's seat at the concert, she'd assumed it was due to his experience, computer expertise and spy training. He'd been behind her and she hadn't seen him flash. Of course, in the end, it hadn't been his flash that had saved the day. It was Sarah's repressed memory that rose to the surface and reminded Chuck how to burn-out the computer and stop the timer for the bomb.

Beckman thought the Intersect was lost with Quinn. With the Intersect destroyed, the government had no need to be involved with Chuck's life any longer. She'd left Carmichael Industries with a  _thank you_  and an open invitation for them to  _save the world_  anytime they felt the need to.

Carmichael Industries was finished.

Casey left to be with Verbanski.

Chuck had tried to rekindle Sarah's feelings on the beach. But the  _magical_  kiss hadn't been magical in the end. Sarah had left to go find herself. She'd never returned.

Chuck had learned how to more effectively suppress his flashes. His secret was safe. He was finally free from the spy life. Finally free from the constant danger to his family and friends.

It was a bitter sweet pill. The spy life was gone. But so was the love of his life.

On the first anniversary after Sarah left him, he'd changed. He hadn't been able to pinpoint what had changed him, or why. But his depression evolved into anger. His despondency morphed into a burning desire to take action. To find Sarah. To find his wife.

The first six months after his reawakening had been all research. He'd called in favors from contacts he'd made over his five years in the spy game. He'd learned a lot.

Sarah had gone back to Langley after she'd left him on the beach. She'd been debriefed, evaluated and recertified. Then she'd been assigned to the CIA substation in Paris, running missions in Europe. That lasted for a year. Then, out of the blue, she'd resigned. After that, she'd disappeared. Totally off the grid. Untraceable.

One year after she'd left him on the beach he'd started looking for her. At the same time she'd quit the CIA and vanished. Chuck knew that wasn't a coincidence. Maybe she'd caught wind that he was trying to find her. She was a spy, after all. She probably kept tabs on anything that happened online that had her name attached to it. Her friends would let her know if people made inquiries about her. She must have caught wind that Chuck had started looking for her. And she'd probably disappeared because of it.

Despite his efforts, Chuck spent six months following up on vague bits of information. They all lead to dead ends. Then, six months ago, one of Casey's undercover NSA buddies had come across a video on the dark web. He'd contacted Casey. He thought he'd recognized one of the people in the video because he'd worked with her in the past. CIA officer, Sarah Walker.

The video was grainy, shot in low light from a distance near the back of a crowd, probably on a cell phone. But when Casey saw the video he knew it was Sarah.

Casey'd sent the video to Chuck. When he'd viewed it he'd known, too. He'd sparred with her countless times and fought side by side with her many more. It was her style, her moves, her grace and power and speed. It was Sarah. Her hair was short now, and she was thinner, more gaunt. She reminded him of the actress who played Sarah Conner in the second Terminator movie. Lean and powerful, broad shoulders, narrow waist and hips, whipcord muscles in her arms and legs. And intimidating as hell — kind of like his mother.

Chuck had done his research. He'd learned everything he could about the history, the culture, and the structure. He learned how the money worked. He learned how law enforcement was evaded, or paid off. He'd learned how the lowly struggled to survive. How the elite migrated across the country. Like nomads, moving from venue to venue, chasing the big money.

On a hunch he'd contacted Emma. He didn't think Sarah would directly contact her mother or adopted sister. But he had a suspicion. Emma had born it out. She'd started receiving money from an anonymous source. But she knew it had to be from Sarah. Large sums. Multiple cashier's checks. Each just under the ten thousand dollar amount that would trigger an automatic review. That jibed with Chuck's research.

Then he'd hit the road and scoured the country for the past six months. Starting in Atlanta, he followed footprints of blood and money. He'd show her photo, drop some cash and deal with assholes. Finding her trail had been a slow process of trial and error, traveling across the US, city to city to city. One person remembered her, the next two didn't. But slowly, methodically, he'd honed his search for the path she'd taken, until each city he hit was a place she'd been only months or weeks earlier. That had lead him to Fairbanks.

Who would have thought that some slimy dirt bag name Ricky might have the answer he was searching for. That in a little dive bar in the middle of Alaska he'd start the sprint to the finish line.

He was close. He could feel it.

He knew Sarah. If she was going to Vegas, she'd need to arrive early. She'd need time to prepare. She'd want to win. That was Sarah. Never second best.

He had a week to find her. A week to search a city of over a half million people. He hadn't had odds this much in his favor since he'd started.

He'd find her. Even if she didn't want to be found. He didn't know what he'd do then. He'd burn that bridge when he crossed it.

* * *

In the past year Chuck had learned a lot about the underbelly of crime. It was the same beast in every city. The faces were different, but the people were the same.

So, when he landed at McCarran airport, the first thing he did was hit a couple of seedy bars near the airport, at the south end of the strip, just off highway 15 leading out of town. He dropped some cash and got the names of a couple of the prominent bookmakers. One of them would have the information he wanted.

Chuck paid cash for a cheap motel several blocks from the main highway. The room was old and worn, like everything off the main drag. The glamour and glitz of the strip hid the bleak history of the city of sin. A history of desperation, of pain, of defeat and of death.

He dropped into the worn chair next to the worn Formica table, next to the worn curtains looking out onto a worn asphalt parking lot. He pulled out his burner phone and dialed the first bookie's number.

The third person he called told him what he needed to know. Armed with this information he called a new phone number.

A woman answered, professional and courteous. "Hello. How can I help you?"

_"_ I'm in town, visiting," Chuck said. "I'd like tickets to a show."

Silence. Then, "Which show?"

"Spartacus, Blood and Sand."

"That show runs for three consecutive days, beginning this Saturday and ending the following Tuesday evening. Reserved seating only. Reservation is ten, goes toward minimum of twenty-five. Are you still interested?"

"Yes."

"Please pay your reservation fee and pickup your ticket tonight, 8:30, at 15488, SW Crestwell."

_"_ I'll be there."

"Name for the reservation?"

"Carmichael. Charles Carmichael."

* * *

Sarah Walker rolled across the mat and struggled to her hands and knees. She shook her head, trying to clear her double vision. She rubbed her jaw where she'd just taken the brunt of a round-house kick from a purple-haired amazon. It hurt, even with the protective head gear.

She'd let herself get distracted. Thinking about  _him_. Thinking about how a friend of an acquaintance of a rival had called her, letting her know that  _he_  had tracked her to Fairbanks. She'd dropped her guard and her sparring partner had tagged her. Hard.

Actually, her sparring partner was more like a sparring enemy. There was no love lost between the women clandestinely training here. They were all after the same thing - big money. If some of them were eliminated before the event, so much the better.

The Amazon Woman came at Sarah, a heel strike aimed at the middle of her back. Sarah rolled away, rotated on her hip and swept her leg under the amazon's legs, sending her to the mat. Sarah rolled back to the corner of the mat and stood, catching her breath. Her vision was slowly returning.

Amazon Woman climbed to her feet. Her face was tight and red and seething in anger. She screamed and charged toward Sarah.

Amazon Woman was big, muscular, powerful. But that made her slow and predictable. Big fighters always went for the power strikes, relying on their bulk and strength to disable their opponent with a knockout punch. That's how Amazon Woman came at Sarah. Rushing in, arms drawn back, ready to deliver a hammering blow.

Sarah had fought plenty of foes larger than her while working for the CIA. They may have been strong, but she had been faster. She slid under the amazon's right cross, grabbed the arm as it flew by, used the amazon's forward momentum to hip-throw the woman to the mat. Sarah kept hold of the right arm, twisted it into a wrist lock, dropped down to her butt and wrapped both legs around the woman's arm. She dug her heels into the woman's armpit and neck, then pulled and twisted.

Amazon Woman screamed, then tapped out. Sarah held on a moment longer, just for spite, then let go. Amazon Woman groaned in pain as she rolled to her back and cradled her arm to her chest. Sarah stood and walked off the mat. She sat on a bench against the wall. She pulled off her headgear and toweled the sweat from her face, then took a swig of water.

"Aye, and she'll sure and be looking for payback sometime soon," came an Irish lilt.

Sarah looked up at Ryan O'Flannery, the owner of O'Flannery's Gym, her current training facility.

"She'll have to get in line," Sarah said. She took another swig of water.

Sarah liked O'Flannery. He'd been nice to her over the past week. Almost like a father figure. Yes, he was taking money to provide a training facility for a small number of contestants preparing for an illegal fight. But there were over a hundred women invited to this high-stakes venue. Another dozen gym owners were doing the same thing. She couldn't fault him for trying to make ends meet. And, after all, this made her a criminal, too.

O'Flannery bent down examining Sarah's cheek. "You want me to take a look at that?" he asked.

"No, thanks. I'll just ice it when I get back to …" She didn't finish the sentence.

Back to — where?

_To my home? To my motel? To my hole in the ground?_

"I'll be fine," Sarah said. "Thanks."

"Okay, Lass. But you be sure and watch your back. This is serious money. Not all of the fightn' will be in the cage. If you know what I mean."

"Yeah. I know," Sarah said and gave him a grim smile.

O'Flannery sighed and sat down beside Sarah. He was probably in his sixties. Small build but fit. Thick reddish-silver hair. Dressed in matching gray sweat pants and shirt, a white towel draped over one shoulder.

"I still can't figure you out, Lass. Why you're here. What you're doing. You're not like the rest."

Sarah looked down as she unwrapped the tape from her hands. "I'm right where I'm supposed to be," she said.

"You see, that's what I mean," he said. "Everyone here wants to be somewhere else. They're trying to win big, so they can get to that somewhere else. So they can be  _someone_  else."

Sarah shrugged.

"I've watched you over the past couple of days," O'Flannery said. "You just don't fit in. Most of these street mongrels are mean. They fight because they're angry. They fight so they can hurt someone. Like her." He tilted his head toward a brunette working on a heavy bag across the gym.

_Blood Rayne. Too theatrical a name for my taste,_ Sarah thought.

Sarah watched the brunette move through a deadly barrage of punches and kicks. She wasn't big. She didn't look intimidating. But Sarah knew her reputation. She was skilled, tough, deadly. And she didn't stop until she was pulled off. She'd killed three women in the cage over the past year. And she was the odds-on favorite to win this tournament.

"She's got no soul," O'Flannery continued. "It's other's pain she feeds on, like a goddamned vampire. The money's just a side benefit."

O'Flannery shook his head. "But not you. You take a beating, get up, get back in the cage, take another beating. It's like you're angry at yourself. Punishing yourself."

Sarah pushed out a huff and scowled at her hands.

"Don't get me wrong," O'Flannery said. "You're a hell of a fighter. One of the best I've ever seen. I've followed your fights over the past year. You've climbed the ranks fast. But, Lass, long-term careers aren't an option in this game. People get in, make their money and get the hell out before they get hurt permanently. Or killed. You could already be out, with a lot of money."

He reached out and gently took Sarah's hands, stilling their preoccupation with the athletic tape. "So, the question is, Lass, why are you still here?"

She sat quietly, staring at his hands on hers.

O'Flannery gave Sarah's hands a gentle squeeze. "And it's none of this nosey old man's business," he said.

He dropped her hands and they sat, watching Blood Rayne.

After a while the brunette fighter stepped back from the bag and turned her gaze to Sarah. They locked eyes. Blood Rayne's lips slowly turned up into a smirk. Then she bared her teeth in a humorless smile. Sarah got the message. If she ended up in the cage with the brunette, only one of them would walk out.

"You're even money to make the top eight," O'Flannery said, breaking the silence, continuing to watch the brunette across the way. "You make the top four and the odds will stack up stout against you. If you win the tournament … well … you'll be making a lot of dangerous people very unhappy. Like Taggart."

"I suppose," Sarah said, still watching Blood Rayne as she attacked the bag with a series of devastating kicks.

"Taggart's not only promoting the fight, but running the book on it," O'Flannery said. "Keeping everything wrapped-up tighter than a Leprechaun watching over his gold." O'Flannery barked out a laugh. "I be making a pun without trying. That's a hoot."

"Is that why Godzilla's hanging around?" Sarah asked, tilting her head toward a football lineman-sized man standing near Blood Rayne. Sarah guessed he stood over six feet tall. He must have weighed close to three hundred pounds, all of it muscle. He was dressed in black slacks, a black turtleneck with a black sports coat. The first time she'd seen him at the beginning of the week she'd quickly spotted the telltale bulge of a shoulder holster.

"Benny's one of Taggart's top dogs. That's why he's here," O'Flannery said.

Sarah gave him a puzzled look.

"Benny's watching over me and you and the rest of the fighters so we don't do anything against Taggart's interests. But he's also making sure nothing happens to the little missy over there," O'Flannery said, shrugging his shoulder toward Blood Rayne. "Taggart's betting that she'll be the goose to lay the golden egg. Doesn't want her taken out before the fight."

Sarah scowled. "I don't like the way he pushes you around."

O'Flannery looked at Sarah, surprised. Then he smiled. "I do believe that's the nicest thing anyone's said to me in the last decade."

Sarah couldn't help but laugh.

"Not to worry, Lass. I can handle Benny for a few more days. He's an ill-mannered boor, but he's not stupid. Best you not cross him."

Sarah gave him a reluctant nod.

"You're doing well, Lassie," O'Flannery said. You'll be ready by Saturday. It's getting late and you're tired. Go eat. Go rest. I'll see you tomorrow."

Sarah gave him a thankful smile. He smiled back, stood and started to walk away. Then he stopped and turned back toward her.

"There is something I'd like to know if you don't mind me asking," O'Flannery said with a sower expression. "How did you come up with that god-awful name?"

Sarah felt her lips turn up into a grin.

"I don't know your real name," O'Flannery continued, "and referring to you by your cage-name is … well … it's a little distasteful for an old dodger like me."

"It's a long story," Sarah said.

O'Flannery watched her for a moment. When she offered nothing more he shrugged and walked away.

Sarah watched O'Flannery go and her throat grew tight with gratitude. He didn't know Sarah Walker, but he  _knew her._  He understood more about her than he realized. And he cared about her — about what happened to her. Without any ulterior motive. Because, at his core, he was a good person. As simple and profound as that.

In her life she'd known only one other person like that. For a while she'd forgotten what she'd known about him.

But then, she'd started to remember.

* * *

Chuck pulled his late model Mercedes rental up to 15488 SW Crestwell. It was a two story office building in the city's business district. It was neither flamboyant, nor decrepit. Plain vanilla. Not calling attention to itself. Which made sense. Successful criminals weren't braggarts or egotists. They were pragmatic business people who knew how to hide in plain sight.

He parked and stepped out of the car, smoothing down his Armani jacket. He'd been surprised at how easily he'd slid back into his Charles Carmichael persona — as familiar as the fit of his expensive suit.

He walked through an opaque glass door into a small reception room. An attractive woman sitting behind a desk looked up. It seemed that almost all women in Las Vegas were attractive. Not unlike LA.

"Good evening," she said.

"Hello. My name is Charles Carmichael. I'm here to reserve a ticket for a show."

The woman looked at her computer screen, then smiled at Chuck. "Yes, Mr. Carmichael. If you'll wait just a moment, one of our customer service agents will be with you to finish your reservation arrangements."

Chuck nodded.

A few moments later a door behind the receptionist opened and a mountain of a man stepped through. He was as tall as Chuck and twice as wide. Nothing but muscle under his black turtle neck and black blazer.

"Mr. Carmichael, please come with me," Mountain Man said. "I'll be happy to assist you with your reservation."

Chuck nodded at the man, following him through the door.

They walked down a short hallway and stopped outside an open office door. Another, equally large  _customer service agent_  stood next to the door.

Mountain Man said, "Mr. Carmichael, would you please allow my colleague to search your person for any weapons or recording devices."

"Sure," Chuck said. He knew the drill, spreading his feet wide and lifting up his arms.

After a thorough and professional pat-down, along with an electronic wand scan, his searcher looked at Mountain Man. "He's clean."

"Thank you, Mr. Carmichael," Mountain Man said. He turned and stepped through the door into a small office. Chuck followed.

"Please, have a seat," Mountain Man said.

Chuck sat.

The office was stark. The walls were cream colored, with cheap carpet on the floor. A small metal desk sat in the middle with a telephone and a white pad of paper. There were two chairs, one on each side of the desk. A video camera was mounted in the far back corner of the ceiling.

"I need to ask you several questions and I thank you in advance for your patience and understanding," Mountain Man said. "Please don't take offense. This is standard protocol."

Chuck nodded. He was impressed with Mountain Man's polite demeanor. Not that he didn't think the burley thug wouldn't hesitate to crush him if he had a reason to.

Mountain Man cleared his throat. "Are you a police officer, or are you working with, for, or under contract with any law enforcement agency?"

Chuck knew the reason for the question. To mount an entrapment defense if he was, indeed, an undercover cop and part of a sting.

"No," Chuck said.

Mountain Man made notes on the white pad of paper and continued. "Do you understand the nature of the entertainment venue you wish to attend?"

"Yes."

"Would you please explain your understanding of the venue."

Chuck's stomach clenched hard, like the first moment when, months ago, he'd realized what was going on. He forced his face to remain passive, almost disinterested. "No holds barred, ultimate fighting between individual combatants," he said.

"And do you understand that this particular venue is female only?"

"Yes."

"Just to clarify," Mountain Man said, "the final field will consist of one hundred and twenty eight contenders. Fighters will progress through a standard, single elimination bracket system. Two fights per day, Saturday through Monday. After six rounds the last two contenders will have advanced to the final fight which will be held Tuesday evening."

"I'm assuming I can place wagers on all or just some of the fights, as long as I meet the minimum aggregate amount," Chuck said.

"That's correct," Mountain Man said. "Do you understand the financial commitment required to attend this venue?"

"Ten thousand dollars up front, which is counted toward a minimum wager of twenty-five thousand."

"Thank you, Mr. Carmichael. Do you have the ten thousand in cash on your person to pay the reservation fee?"

"Before I do anything, I'd like to speak to Mr. Taggart."

Mountain Man's head snapped up. His pleasant demeanor vanished, replaced by a cold glare. "Taggart isn't available and doesn't get involved in matters at this level."

Chuck heard the other huge man step in through the open door behind him.

"I think Mr. Taggart will want to hear what I have to offer," Chuck said. He slowly raised his hands, palms out toward Mountain Man. He looked down at his suit jacket, then back at Mountain Man. "May I?" he asked.

Mountain Man looked past Chuck.

The unmistakeable ratcheting sound of a semi-automatic pistol racking a round into its chamber was sharp and clear.

Mountain Man looked back at Chuck. "Very slowly, if you please, Mr. Carmichael."

Chuck reached into his jacket's right inside breast pocket, pulled out a large envelope and sat it on the desk. Then he slowly repeated the process on his left breast pocket. Two fat envelopes sat before mountain man.

Chuck addressed the video camera. "I'd like to be considered for VIP status. I have ten times the minimum wager that I'm willing to place as a reservation, right now." He nodded toward the envelopes.

Chuck had to hand it to Mountain Man. He kept his cool, even though his eyes widened.

"Just to clarify," Mountain Man said, pointing at the two envelopes, "you're committing to a guaranteed wager of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, which you're willing to leave on deposit in cash. Right here, right now."

"Correct," Chuck said, still looking up into the camera. "But in return I would expect some considerations to allow me to prepare the combinations and spreads of my wagers before the event."

"What considerations are you thinking of?" Mountain Man asked.

"Please don't take offense," Chuck parroted Mountain Man's earlier phrase back to him, "but I believe those considerations are at a level where Mr. Taggart should be involved."

Mountain Man scowled at Chuck, but remained quiet. A minute passed. The phone on the desk rang. Mountain Man picked up the receiver. He listened, gave a few affirmative grunts, then said, "Yes, ma'am," and hung up.

" _Ms_. Taggart would be happy to see you," Mountain Man said as he scooped up the two envelopes. "Please, come with me, Mr. Carmichael."

* * *

Sarah took the city bus back to her motel. She transferred twice, even though she didn't need to. Counter surveillance training was a hard habit to break.

She shut the door behind her and locked it. She threw her keys and gym bag on a chair by the window. The room was dingy, the carpet worn, the furniture old. Her nose detected a hint of mold and the bleach used in an attempt to cover it up. But the room was cheap, which meant more money could go home to her mother and Molly. Cheap was good enough for her.

Turning the shower handle all the way to hot Sarah stripped off her workout clothes, dropping them to the bathroom floor. She turned to the mirror. A woman she barely recognized looked her over with disdain.

The woman's hair was cut short, the trim poorly done. Her face was thin. Her body almost gaunt, without a soft contour anywhere. But she was muscular. Arms defined, like whipcords. Pecs visible behind breasts which were smaller as the result of more muscle mass. Abdominals tapered down to a six pack at her waist. Hips were narrow with a gap between thighs despite the thick quads and hamstrings. The woman was in the best shape of her life.

And she was ugly beyond belief.

Sarah stepped into the shower. The hot water scalded her skin. She closed her eyes. She stayed until it grew cold.

Wrapping herself in a towel Sarah fell back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. She was tired. So tired. Of everything. But like so many nights before, sleep refused to come.

O'Flannery's question echoed in her mind.

_Why are you still here?_

Why  _was_  she still fighting? Why was she still traveling from city to town, armpit to hellhole?

She'd started out in gutted factory warehouses and underground parking garages. As she'd won more fights she'd been able to insert herself into venues with bigger purses. As she'd won more money she'd sent more to her mother. Always anonymously. Always, almost the entire amount. She'd only kept enough to buy bus tickets and pay for motels and food.

But now it was like an addiction. Every time, she swore it was her last. Yet,  _every time_ , the physical pain and the adrenalin rush made her forget.  _Every time,_  she felt some relief — if only for a few hours — from her guilt and shame.  _Every time,_  held her memories at bay.

She thought back to the day the first of her lost memories had crashed back into her life, uninvited and unwelcome. She'd been on a mission in Barcelona. She and  _he_  had been on several missions to Barcelona over the years they'd worked together. She knew that because she'd remembered them. The memories had welled up from inside her. They'd overwhelmed her, incapacitated her. She'd lost her focus and almost got herself and another agent killed.

When she'd returned to Langley at the end of that mission she'd found out that he was trying to find her.

She knew she couldn't be a spy any longer.

So, she'd quit. Gone dark. Disappeared.

The memories kept manifesting over the weeks and months that followed. Each one materialized like a ghost taking shape from the ether — haunting her nights, invading her dreams. She couldn't stop them. She wasn't sure she wanted to.

The CIA shrinks had said her memories might eventually return. Maybe a few, maybe all of them. Or maybe none of them. There was no way to know for sure.

Barcelona had been like popping a cork on a bottle full of memories. They all didn't come back at once. They came to her in pieces, as if her mind fought to hoard the most important parts. Hiding them from her out of spite. But they'd come. They still came. One memory after another. One piece of her life after another.

What had surprised Sarah was that the story her memories told wasn't a spy story. Not an action and adventure story. It was a love story. A romance. About a life most people would give anything to live. A life unattainable for a spy like her.

She'd had that life. But now it was gone. And that was that.

She didn't deserve that life anyway. Because she'd wounded him. To the marrow. She knew it was true.

She'd viewed her video logs. She seen their wedding album. Friends had told her about the two of them together. She'd looked at her wedding ring and understood.

She knew he loved her. She'd believed that she had loved him. But the life she'd learned about was nowhere in her experience. And without those memories and experiences, there was nothing for feelings to rebuild upon.

She'd known she could never be what he wanted. She'd known he would never give up on her. Her heart had ached watching him hurt. She hadn't wanted to hurt him any more. And the only thing that would have hurt him more than her leaving — would have been her staying.

So, she'd left him.

_Him._

Why was it so hard to say his name.

_Chuck. His name is Chuck_.

That name cut across her heart like a razor blade — deep, merciless, unforgiving. How did you repent for destroying someone's life? How did you atone for tearing apart another's soul?

You didn't.

Because you couldn't.

It wasn't possible.

He was better off without her.

She didn't deserve him. She never would.

* * *

"Good evening, Mr. Carmichael. I'm curious. Why haven't we crossed paths before?" the woman behind the glass desk asked.

Mountain Man had lead Chuck up a set of stairs to the end of the hallway. He'd knocked on a door and then opened it, gesturing for Chuck to enter.

The office was the antithesis of the one downstairs. It was large. The furniture and decor were modern and expensive, with lots of glass and burnished metal accents. The glass and metal desk at the far end of the room was wide, the woman behind it, stunning.

"Because fortune has failed to smile on me," Chuck said.

The woman smiled. It made her golden skin glow and her Asian eyes widen. Long, black hair brushed across her shoulders as she stood and walked out from behind the desk. A black, sleeveless, sheath dress molded itself to her slender frame.

She extended her hand toward Chuck. "Then, we'll have to remedy that." She grasped his hand demurely. "Alicia Taggart," she said.

Chuck had no doubt that Alicia Taggart was anything but demure. He bent down, lightly kissing the back of her hand, never breaking eye contact. "A pleasure," he said.

"Yes, I believe it is," Taggart said as her smile widened.

Chuck relaxed his grip. Taggart held on a little longer.

She gestured toward two chairs with a small coffee table in front. "Please, sit," she said.

Taggart crossed one shapely leg over the other. "You're not a regular patron of the art. What got you interested?"

"Boredom," Chuck responded.

"Do, tell."

"I'm a computer engineer by training," Chuck said, which was true. He'd learned a long time ago as a spy that the best lies were based in truth. Sarah had taught him that. "Statistics and probabilities come naturally to me. I've satisfied my itch via online gaming." A partial truth, although his and Taggart's definitions of  _online gaming_  were probably worlds apart. "I've been moderately successful. But after the money wasn't an issue any longer, it got boring."

"I see," Taggart said. "Then you found that there's nothing more exciting than standing right up next to the cage. Sweat and blood flying through the chainlink into your face. The aroma of fear and adrenaline. It's all quite heady."

"Indeed," Chuck agreed. "I've been following the sport for the better part of a year, now." Another truth. "I've waited until this event to  _throw my hat into the ring,_ if you'll pardon the pun."

Taggart let out a throaty laugh. She shifted in her seat, uncrossing and recrossing her legs, giving Chuck an excellent view of her toned thighs.

Chuck was unaffected by her overt flirting. His goal was another prize. But he had to play the part. He purposefully widened his eyes and leaned slightly forward.

"Well, you certainly know how to get a woman's attention," Taggart said. "A quarter million dollars will do that. Tell me, what type of VIP considerations were you thinking of."

"Nothing elaborate," Chuck said. "I'd simply like to observe the training of several contestants I've been following over the past several months. Not unlike — I suppose — watching thoroughbred horses preparing for a race. I'd like to observe their physical condition, speed, strength and attitude, among other details. That's the kind of information that helps me construct my probability models. From there, wagers and spreads are relatively easy to develop."

"I see," Taggart said. "Should I be worried that you'll break my book?"

Chuck let out a low laugh. "Hardly," he said. "I'm nothing special. I usually do a little better than fifty-fifty on the odds. With a large enough wager, that provides an adequate return without putting someone like you at risk."

Taggart gave him a coy smile. "I appreciate your consideration of my assets," she said.

"There's much to appreciate," Chuck said, flashing his own smile.

Taggart's eyes flared and her smile widened just a hair.

"Which contestants do you want to observe," she asked.

"If I told you, I'd be tipping my hand," Chuck said, apologetically.

Taggart chuckled. "I suppose so."

"If you have a list of the contestants and where they're training, I can identify the facilities I'd like to visit. I can watch my prospects along with the others training there, without giving anything away."

Taggart looked thoughtful for a moment. Then she said, "I like you, Mr. Carmichael. More than I probably should. I think we can accommodate your request."

She rose, walked over to her desk, opened a drawer and pulled out a manilla file folder. She returned to her chair and handed the file to Chuck. He flipped it open.

"We've contracted with twelve training facilities throughout the city," Taggart explained. "Each page lists the cage-names of contestants training at a single facility. Please identify the contestants you want to observe and make note of the page number. By tomorrow morning at 9 am I'll have arrangements in place for you to visit each facility through this Friday. When the elimination rounds begin on Saturday the contestants will be sequestered through the reminder of the venue. For their protection. You understand.

Chuck understood. At that point Taggart would want to prevent any attempts to injure or kill a fighter before the fight. That was necessary to instill confidence that the book was stable and the fight was on the up-and-up.

"I do," Chuck said. "Your offer is more than fair and I appreciate your generosity. If you'll just give me a moment," he said, and started scanning through the pages.

He found what he was looking for on the seventh page. He scanned through all twelve so as to not give away what his true intention was. He hadn't known exactly what he was looking for when he started. When he saw a specific cage-name under the list of fighters training at O'Flannery's Gym, he knew it was her.

Chuck continued his ruse of looking over the list of fighters. He knew how to find Sarah now. He knew where she'd be tomorrow. His year long search was almost over. But now that he was so close he felt a shadow of doubt. Was this the right thing to do? Did he really want to see Sarah? Talk to her? Maybe she was better off without him. If he showed up, maybe he'd ruin any sense of normalcy she'd made for herself.

And the two hundred and fifty thousand dollars wasn't a small amount to toss out on a whim. The possibility of loosing the money didn't bother him. He could afford it. It was what the act represented. He was going to drop a quarter million dollars just to get what he wanted. Was he really that selfish? A quarter million dollars would mean almost a seven thousand dollar annual bonus for the Buy More's thirty-seven employees. Or, it would go a long way in supporting those same employees pursuing a college education. Had his ego really grown that large? Was he really going to do this?

But this wasn't just about him. This was about Sarah. She'd been victimized by Quinn. She lost as much or more than Chuck had — she just didn't know that because she couldn't remember it. This was about giving her a chance to get back the life Quinn had stolen from her, even if she never regained her memories. And, in the end, he'd do anything for Sarah.

Chuck cleared his throat. "Pages three, seven and nine."

"Very good," Taggart said. "I'll have my staff begin to make arrangements as soon as you leave."

"Thank you," Chuck said.

Taggart leaned slightly forward. "I'd invite you to stay for a drink, but I don't want anyone to perceive you're the recipient of any unfair advantage."

"Although disappointed, I understand," Chuck said, continuing the flirtation and playing his Carmichael persona like an instrument.

"Perhaps Tuesday evening, after the final match?" Taggart said.

"Perhaps," Chuck said.

"Hmmm," Taggart mused. "If you'd care to, would you join me in my box Tuesday evening for the final event? I think your company would be exhilarating."

"I'd like that," Chuck said.

"Lovely." Taggart said. She stood. Chuck did also. "I'll see you then, Mr. Carmichael."


	2. Chapter 2

As Chuck left Taggart's office and climbed into his rental car, his mind raced. He was so close to finding Sarah. So close to seeing his wife - and his love - once again.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten, so he got a burger and fries at a drive through and returned to his motel. He threw the food on the Formica table. It sat there, untouched.

Chuck fell onto the bed. He stared at the ceiling, wondering if he'd done the right thing. Maybe Sarah was better off without him. Maybe this was the way her life was supposed to be right now. Who did he think he was — to decide what was best for another person? Had he really become that arrogant?

But his heart ached. A desperation and emptiness familiar from the days after Sarah had left. It had eventually faded into the background after many sleepless nights and listless days. Now it was back. He wasn't sure he could survive it this time. He was afraid it might be the end of him.

Whether or not he was arrogant, whether or not this was in Sarah's best interest, he needed to see this through. The alternative was something his mind had toyed with in fleeting moments of hopelessness. He wouldn't consider that now, not when he was this close to knowing what path his life would take. There'd be plenty of time for that later.

Chuck studied the patterns in the textured ceiling. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

The next morning found Chuck dressed in jeans and a hoody sweatshirt. He stepped up to a dingy wooden door set into a brick facade in an alleyway west of downtown. A sign over the door read,  _O'Flannery's Gym_. A handwritten paper sign taped on the door read,  _Closed for The Week - Private Training_.

He knocked. A small man with red hair dressed in sweats opened the door.

"I'm Carmichael. Taggart sent me," Chuck said.

The small man nodded and stepped aside, gesturing Chuck inside. "I'm Ryan O'Flannery, Mr. Carmichael" he said, with an obvious Irish accent.

Chuck smiled and offered his hand. "A pleasure. Call me Chu—, ah … Charles," he said.

O'Flannery glanced at Chuck's hand, a surprised look on his face, then shook it. "Follow me," he said.

O'Flannery lead Chuck down a narrow hallway. The familiar sounds of fists and feet, of shouts and grunts, drifted down the passageway. Chuck passed through a door. Hot and humid air, pungent with the smell of sweat, punched him in the face. The space had a low ceiling but was as large as a basketball court. Around the perimeter fighters worked out on heavy bags and speed bags. Others were jumping rope, lifting weights and shadowing boxing. The room's center was covered with mats which had a yellow taped outline of a standard fighting cage. Two women were sparing inside the yellow lines.

A huge man dressed in black stepped up to O'Flannery and grabbed him roughly by the shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. "Who's this?" the man growled.

The man reminded Chuck of Mountain Man. It was clear he was one of Taggart's muscle. And it was obvious he enjoyed being physically abusive. Chuck hated bullies. Before O'Flannery could speak Chuck stepped forward, shouldered his way in between the large man and O'Flannery. The man had to release his hold. He had more mass than Chuck, but Chuck was taller. Chuck knew how to use his height to intimidate, even someone as big as this guy.

"I'm a guest of Taggart's," Chuck said, glaring down at the man.

The big man glared back. He was obviously upset that Chuck had intervened on O'Flannery's behalf.

After a long silence, Chuck said, "Are we done here?"

The big man scowled, then stepped back.

Chuck turned to O'Flannery and gestured from him to move forward. "After you," Chuck said. He caught the smirk on O'Flannery's face and knew the big man had, as well.

When they were out of earshot O'Flannery said, "Not that I don't appreciate the gesture, but I can handle Benny."

"Yeah. Sorry," Chuck said. "I just have a tough time with jerks like that."

O'Flannery nodded. "Fair enough." He looked Chuck over, then pointed to three people standing at the far side of the room and said, "You don't look like them."

Chuck took in the two men and one woman. The men wore top-of-the-line suits, the woman, an expensive dress. They oozed money and arrogance, intentionally calling attention to themselves.

Chuck didn't want any attention. That's why he'd dressed down. That's why he pulled his hoody over his head. He didn't want Sarah to know he was there. Not yet.

"My suit's at the cleaners," Chuck said.

O'Flannery snorted. He made a sweeping gesture with his arm. "You're welcome to walk around and observe. Taggart's only rule is that VIP's don't talk to fighters."

"Understood," Chuck said.

"If you need anything, track me down," O'Flannery said.

"Thanks," Chuck replied.

Chuck spent an hour walking around the perimeter of the gym, watching the fighters train. He lurked in the background with his hood up. He slouched down to hide his height. But so far, Sarah hadn't shown up. He wondered if she'd come in today to train. Not that there was any problem with him waiting. He had nowhere else to go.

O'Flannery approached Chuck with two steaming coffee cups. He offered one to Chuck.

"Thanks," Chuck said.

"Sure," O'Flannery said.

They drank and watched the fighters.

After a while O'Flannery said, "You really don't fit in with that crowd," nodding toward the three VIPs watching the sparing match on the mat.

Chuck just shrugged. His initial instinct was that O'Flannery was a good guy. But he couldn't afford to talk with him much without the risk of blowing his cover. He swiveled his head toward O'Flannery to find the older man regarding him intently. He was about to speak when shouting broke out, echoing off the walls.

Chuck turned back to the mat where everyone's attention was focused. One of the fighters, a woman with black hair, was down. A small brunette straddled her, pummeling the black-haired woman. It was obvious that the black-haired woman was unable to defend herself any longer. She was barely able to keep her arms up and was losing consciousness. Half the crowd was screaming at the brunette to keep going, while the other half was screaming at her to stop.

Chuck felt O'Flannery tense. "Here," O'Flannery said, quickly handing his cup to Chuck and moving toward the mat.

O'Flannery had taken only a few steps when Chuck caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. A woman had exploded from the locker room door and streaked across the room toward the mat. She ducked her shoulder and plowed into the brunette, knocking her off the black-haired woman who was now completely still.

The brunette screamed in rage and shot to her feet. The other woman rolled, then rose and turned to face off with the brunette.

Chuck stopped breathing.

Even though her hair was short and her face was thin, Chuck would recognize Sarah Walker no matter what she looked like.

"Sarah." Chuck breathed out her name, reverent and soft.

No one in the room moved except for two women who dragged the unconscious fighter off the mat. The only sound was the labored breathing of the two fighters facing each other. Even O'Flannery had stopped, frozen in place.

"I'm tired of your holier-than-thou attitude. Acting like you're better than everybody else," the brunette growled. "I think it's time someone fucked you up."

"Who would that be?" Sarah sneered. "You? You're not my type."

The brunette let out a scream and shot toward Sarah. Sarah danced forward to the center of the mat. The two women met in a flurry of punches and kicks. Striking and blocking. Dodging and ducking. The blows were vicious. No one in the room would mistake this for a sparring match. They were out for blood.

Both women were evenly matched, Chuck realized. Both were getting a few punches and kicks past the other's defenses. If this fight were to go the distance, it would be decided either by a lucky punch, or the fighters' endurance and stamina.

The brunette slipped a kick past Sarah's block, hitting her in the stomach. Sarah staggered back to the edge of the mat and smashed into Benny. He grabbed her as her back hit him. But he didn't push her off or let her go. Instead he gripped her forearms, giving the brunette a clear shot. She took it, bringing an elbow across Sarah's jaw. The blow ripped her out of Benny's grip and she spun to the mat.

Chuck dropped both cups, hot coffee splattering across the floor. He took two steps toward the fight when O'Flannery moved in front of him. The older man wrapped his arms around Chuck and dug in his heels. "Wait," he said.

Chuck looked down at O'Flannery as if he were crazy. He was about to throw the smaller man off of him when he looked up at the fighters. The brunette was moving in on Sarah who had climbed up on all fours. She spun her entire body around on one knee, bringing her other foot up for a kick to the brunette's unprotected solar plexus. The blow landed. The brunette dropped.

Benny shot forward, hovering protectively over the downed woman.

Sarah crawled to the edge of the mat and slowly rose. She gulped for air. Sweat poured down her face. She glared at Benny. "If you ever touch me again," she said, her voice low and menacing, "I will snap your fingers in half. Every. Single. One."

Benny looked at Sarah but said nothing. Chuck saw him swallow hard. He helped the brunette to her feet and they walked to the far side of the room.

Chuck felt O'Flannery release his grip and realized the small man had been leaning into him, holding him in place this whole time.

"That lass is tough," O'Flannery said. "But more than that, she's smart. She can take care of herself."

Chuck's pulse was still pounding, his heart racing. "I know," he huffed out in frustration.

"You all right, Lad?" O'Flannery asked.

Chuck nodded, taking a step back, trying to relax muscles so tight they hurt.

"Good," O'Flannery said. He studied Chuck for a second, then said "I'm guessing you've seen what you came here to see. It might be best if you left and had a drink or two. Or three." He looked toward Sarah. "I need to go check on her and get people calmed down a bit."

"Yeah," Chuck said, still staring at Sarah. He pushed out a breath. "Okay."

O'Flannery walked toward the mat. "Alright everyone," he shouted, "playtime's over."

* * *

O'Flannery leaned over, examining Sarah's jaw where Blood Rayne had landed her elbow.

"Sure and Little Missy tagged you in the same spot our purple-haired wonder got you yesterday," O'Flannery said, his Irish accent stronger than Sarah had heard before.

He stepped back and handed her a cold pack. She took it and pressed it to her jaw.

O'Flannery reached behind him and closed the door to his small office. He walked past Sarah, who sat in a small chair just inside the door. He dropped into the chair behind his old, metal desk.

"How's  _'Top Down'_  doing?" Sarah asked.

"She woke up. She didn't want to go to the hospital, but I had a couple of the girls take her anyway."

"Good."

The space between them grew silent. Sarah watched O'Flannery watching her. When his lips turned down into a frown she let out an exasperated, "What?"

"Met one of your admirers today, I did. One of Taggart's VIPs."

"One of those three pompous assholes watching from the side?" she asked. "They didn't get to see me for more than 3 minutes. And I got my ass kicked."

O'Flannery let out a chuckle. "Lass, I'd be thinking it was you doing the ass kickin'." He steepled his fingers on the top of the desk. "No, not one of those three. A different gent. Said his name was Carmichael."

Sarah's eyes shot to O'Flannery's. He was studying her. It made her squirm in her chair.

Chuck had found her. Chuck had been here. She'd known it was possible. After Fairbanks, it wouldn't take him long to find her. But she'd thought she'd have more time than this. How had he managed to track her down so fast?

O'Flannery continued as if he'd not seen Sarah's reaction. But she knew he had.

"Yep. A nice gent. Sure, and he's a big fan. When Little Missy landed her cheap shot I thought he was gonna come out of his shoes and fly to the mat. It took everything I had to hold him back."

"You stopped him?"

"Of course. I couldn't let him go and get himself in trouble with Taggart now, could I? Besides, I knew you'd catch your wind and put the little vampire in her place."

"Oh yeah?" Sarah said. "What if I hadn't?"

"Well then, I suppose there'd have been two people in trouble with Taggart," O'Flannery said.

Sarah smiled. It was good to know someone had your back. Then she frowned and looked down in thought.

Chuck being here was the last thing in the world she wanted to deal with right now. If she were honest, Chuck being here scared the crap out of her. She'd worked hard to disappear and stay that way. He must have really put in an effort to find her.

"'Did I ever tell you about my wife?" O'Flannery said, pulling Sarah's attention back to him.

"Not in the five days we've know each other," Sarah said, feeling confused with the change in subject. "I didn't know you were married."

"'She passed. Seven years ago."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Aye. Me too." O'Flannery sighed and stared off into space. "I miss her. I don't know what she ever saw in me, but she loved me anyway. Sure and I have no doubt. And I loved her back.

"I remember the first time I saw her. Eyes as green as the Irish hills. Hair as red as glowing embers on the hearth. I fell in love with her, right then and there."

Sarah watched O'Flannery out of the corner of her eye. She saw his eyes mist as he relived his memories.

"And even when we grew old, I'd still come home and sit down at the kitchen table and watch her cooking. She'd say, ' _What are you doin', starin' at me again, Ryan?'_ even though she knew the answer. And I'd always say,  _'just thankin' the stars above that you love me, Sarah.'"_

Sarah flinched at the name. Then she realized his gaze had sharpened, focusing on her.

"A beautiful Irish name, Sarah. I remember how it sounded on my lips when I spoke to her like that." He shifted in his chair, leaning back. "It sounded the same way when he said it."

Sarah stiffened.

"It makes me feel good to know your name, Lassie. But it's our secret and none will hear it from my lips."

"I probably need to go," Sarah said, nervously. "I don't really need to train today. I can use the downtime."

O'Flannery nodded. "You're probably right."

Sarah rose and reached for the door handle.

"You know," O'Flannery said, "one thing us old dodgers have is a wee bit of insight. Some call it wisdom. But I'm not sure I'd give us that much credit."

Sarah stood, her back to O'Flannery, listening.

"I'd wager that our handsome Mr. Carmichael is one reason you keep climbing back into the cage, Lass," he continued. "I just want you to know, that if you ever need to talk …" he let the sentence hang.

At his words the same gratitude she'd felt the day before flooded Sarah's chest. But right now wasn't the time to confess her sins to O'Flannery. Perhaps she never would.

With her back to him Sarah bobbed her head in a nod she knew he could see. Then she opened the door.

"And thank the gods I won't be havin' to call you by that other disgusting name any more," O'Flannery yelled after her. "At least, not in private, anyway."

Sarah kept walking, fighting the smile threatened her lips.

* * *

Sarah walked down the street away from O'Flannery's Gym. The sunny, January day was warm. Her thoughts went to Chuck, wondering how she was going to deal with this problem. Because, right now, he was definitely a problem.

She thought about running. Just picking up and disappearing. But there was big money on the line. Much more than any venue she'd fought before. Enough money so her mother and step sister would be set for life. And, a couple of days ago, O'Flannery had let it slip that he was betting on Sarah to place in the top four. It was a lot of money for the him, more than he should have wagered. Sarah needed to advance to the semi-final match for O'Flannery's sake. She couldn't let him down.

She needed to stay. She needed to fight. She needed to win this tournament. This was not the time to lose focus. She needed one hundred percent of her attention committed to this fight.

Chuck's presence mucked everything up and put her success at risk. Sarah needed to get rid of him. Make him leave. Convince him somehow that whatever he was trying to do by tracking her down was a lost cause. That meant she had to talk to him. And that was the last thing on earth she wanted to do.

Sarah's chest tightened and a chill ran through her at the thought of seeing Chuck for the first time in two years. She remembered the look in his eyes when she'd left him on the beach. It still haunted her when her thoughts drifted back to her life in Burbank. And with her memories resurfacing over the past year, her thoughts drifted back to California more and more. She found herself thinking about Chuck, more and more. And the pain in her heart hurt, more and more.

Every memory that returned made more clear what leaving Chuck had done to him. Each memory stacked more guilt, upon more shame, upon more self-loathing. Sometimes she wished her memories had never started to return. She'd felt bad about hurting Chuck when she'd left him. But at that time she'd had no context to understand just how devastating her leaving was to him. Now, with her memories returning, she understood completely. And she hated herself more for it every day.

Still, what was done was done. It couldn't be undone. And it  _shouldn't_  be undone.

Because she was poison to him. She always had been.

The first three years Sarah had known Chuck she'd treated him like dirt, dragging him along with the on-again, off-again relationship. Letting him think that maybe there was something real, then dashing his hopes by telling him there wasn't. That had all been a lie. There had always been something inside her that wanted Chuck. She'd fallen for him when she'd met him. But she'd led him on, blaming the insanity of it all on the CIA, and their cover, and her status as his handler, and his status as her asset. In truth, Sarah had been afraid to let Chuck in. Afraid to let him love her. And he'd lived a miserable life because of it. She was nothing but a coward.

Eventually, they'd married. That was the final setup for the ultimate fall. She was a spy and she'd never change. Even after they quit the CIA and started their own business, she was still a spy, through and through. When she'd lost her memories, she'd reverted back to who she was and what she knew before Chuck. Then she'd left him. Because being a spy was all she knew. She'd been a fool to love him. She'd been cruel to let him love her.

Sarah wasn't sure she could keep it together if she saw Chuck. She wasn't sure she'd be able to speak to him, or even be in his presence. He didn't need the poison that was Sarah Walker back in his life, not even for a minute.

But Sarah had to deal with the fact that Chuck was here. She needed to get rid of him. Convince him to go back home. For his own sake, as well as hers. That meant she had to see him. To talk to him. No matter how painful. The sooner, the better.

Sarah pulled out her phone and dialed.

" _Hello?"_

"Zondra, it's Sarah."

_"Hey girl. Long time. You okay?"_

"Yeah. Do you remember you told me to call you if I ever needed anything?"

_"Sure. What can I do?"_

"I need you to track down a rental car. I'm in Vegas. I've got the customer name. If you query the local rental agencies' databases and find out who he rented from, you can ID the car's transponder and let me know the location in real-time, right?

_"Yeah. Piece of cake."_

"It's Charles Carmichael."

The phone went quiet. Sarah could hear the gears spinning in Zondra's head.

_"He's trying to track you down?"_ Zondra asked.

"He's already found me," Sarah replied.

There was another pause.

_"Maybe that's a good thing."_

"No, it's not. I need to confront him and tell him to back off."

" _He might have something to say worth hearing."_

"Dammit, Rizzo. Will you help me or not?"

_"Of course I will. You know that."_

"Good. Call this number when you have something."

_"Give me twenty minutes."_

Sarah blew out a breath. "I'm sorry."

_"Don't sweat it. I've got your back."_

* * *

Leaning against the railing Chuck watched the synchronized fountains in front of the Bellagio Hotel. He felt like George Clooney in Ocean's Eleven. Except he wasn't finished with his job and he hadn't won the girl back.

_Is that what I'm trying to do? Win the girl back?_

He'd left O'Flannery's gym, stunned at seeing Sarah. He was glad O'Flannery had encouraged him to leave. He'd not been prepared for what he'd seen. He didn't know what he'd have said. He wasn't sure he could have even found it in himself to speak.

The life that Sarah had been living over the past year had taken its toll mercilessly. It obviously still was. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't figure out why she did it. Why she kept fighting. Why she kept enduring the pain. Why she had exiled herself from everyone and choose to be alone.

This wasn't the Sarah Walker he knew. She'd never been like that since he'd met her. And he'd learned enough about her life to know that she'd not been like this before she'd come to Burbank. Chuck wanted to know what had happened to cause Sarah to punish herself like this. Day after day, week after week — hard and cold and alone.

Sarah had looked hard. She'd looked cold. She'd fought that way. She'd even made Benny think twice. It was still his Sarah, but then again, not his Sarah. The compassion that burned inside her was still there. She'd saved the unconscious fighter from being killed by the brunette maniac. But it was obvious she was damaged, and his heart felt heavy because of it. If only he could have been there for her to talk to. To let her know she wasn't alone. That she was loved. But he'd been afraid if he continued to communicate with her, she'd feel pressured and that would drive her further away. He'd been paralyzed by that fear. And he'd done nothing.

Anger rose in Chuck's chest. Oppressive and familiar. The same confusing anger he'd felt a year ago when he'd gotten off his ass and started looking for Sarah. And suddenly he knew what that anger was about — what he was angry at. Or more to the point — who he was angry at.

He hadn't been there for her when she needed him most. He could have been. If he'd done then, what he was doing now.

This was his fault.

A couple passing by pulled Chuck from his thoughts. They asked him to take their picture with the fountains in the background. He forced a smile and agreed, waiting for just the right moment when the fountains burst up and cascaded down. He looked at the picture before he gave the phone back. They weren't looking at the camera, but at each other. Looks of love and longing and happiness. He remembered what that felt like. He missed it. He missed her.

It took a while, but Chuck finally managed to clear his thoughts. He was here in Las Vegas, looking for Sarah. And he'd found her. After a year of searching, he'd actually been within thirty feet of her. She hadn't recognized him. But he'd seen her. Then he'd left.

What the hell had he been thinking. He needed to go back. He needed to see her. He needed to talk to her. He needed to find out what was going on with her. Before he'd leave he'd have an answer, whether he liked the answer, or not.

Chuck took several deep breaths, letting them out slowly. He just needed a minute to find his center. Then he'd go back to O'Flannery's Gym. He'd find Sarah. Speak to her. Maybe touch her hand if she'd let him. He just hoped she was still there.

As he watched the fountain dance, his spy-sense turned on, like the flip of a switch. Someone was watching him. He could feel it on the back of his neck. He kept looking at the fountain, but tensed, ready to flash if he needed to fight. A few seconds later he felt his body calm. He realized what he sensed wasn't threatening. The feeling was familiar. There was only one person in the world he had that type of connection with.

Chuck kept facing the fountain and said, "O'Flannery told you?"

For a moment it was quiet, then, "Yeah. He said he met a guy named Carmichael."

"How did you find me?" Chuck asked.

"I think that's my line."

Chuck turned slowly. His chest tightened. It was hard to breathe. Sarah stood ten feet behind him, off to the side. She was still dressed in her workout leggings and a dark blue sweatshirt. Her blond hair came down to just below her ears, bangs in front and short in the back. Her face was thin, the angles sharp and pronounced.

"You first," he said.

"Zondra. Tracked your rental's LoJack," she said, her blue eyes regarded him intently. "Now, your turn."

"You want the long version or the short version."

"Short will do."

"I just didn't stop searching until I found you," he said.

Sarah swallowed and looked away.

After a few beats, Chuck said, "Are you okay? You took a hell of a shot and I-"

Sarah snapped her head back to him. "Why are you here, Chuck?"

Chuck went silent. He pondered her question and was surprised that he didn't have an answer. He finally said, "Honestly? I'm not sure anymore."

Sarah eyes were stormy. He ached to look at her, it had been so long. But her gaze threatened to rip his veil of self-delusion away — to bear his blame for her to see. He'd only just realized it himself. He wasn't ready for anyone else to see it. Especially her. Chuck pushed out a breath and turned back to the fountains, leaning his arms against the railing.

The sounds of a bustling city surrounded them. They were quiet for a long time.

Eventually Chuck sensed that Sarah had moved to the railing. He glanced to the side. She leaned against the railing as he did, a half dozen feet away, her eyes on the geysers of water. He yearned to reach out and touch her. To look at her face, to try to find some answers there. But his fear rooted him in place, immovable. He turned his gazed back to the fountains.

"If you want to yell at me, go ahead. Get it over with," Sarah said.

"You're not the one who needs to be yelled at," Chuck said. "That's not why I'm here."

Sarah turned her head to him, her expression confused. Then her eyes widened. "Do you want a divorce? Is that why you came? Do you have papers for me to sign?"

Sarah's mention of divorce hit Chuck's gut like a sucker punch. He turned to her, searching her face, her eyes. Trying to make sense of her comment. Even in the darkest moments of his despair Chuck had never let himself consider divorce. That would have meant he'd given up hope. It probably would have meant more.

"No! No, no, no," Chuck blurted out. He looked at her harder, willing her to give him some clue as to how she felt, but her expression was inscrutable. "Do … you want a divorce?" he said, cautiously.

Sarah frowned. "That's not what I meant," she said, her voice irritated. She turned back toward the fountains.

Chuck kept quiet. He knew when not to push Sarah. This was one of those times.

After another long silence Sarah finally let out a sigh and said, "You can't be here."

Chuck let out a soft laugh. "And yet, here I am."

"What I mean is, you can't stay. I've got a lot riding on this. You're a distraction I can't afford."

"I know about the money you send to your mom."

Sarah gave Chuck a side-long glance. "Good. Then you know why I'm doing this."

"No. I still don't."

Sarah didn't respond, so Chuck continued. "Emma and Molly will never want for anything as long as I'm alive. They're my family. You don't need to do this for them."

Sarah stared straight ahead, stoic and unmoving.

Chuck shook his head. This entire conversation was surreal, absurd, bordering on the almost comical. Before he could censor himself, he said, "It's times like this I wish you  _were_  a cannibal. At least I'd know that I was dealing with."

At his comment, Sarah quit breathing for a moment, then ducked her head and let out a soft laugh. Her body and demeanor shifted miraculously before his eyes. She leaned heavily against the railing. Her eyes looked down at the giant pool of water in front of them, unfocused and distant. Her face softened and the spring-loaded tenseness in her body seemed to drain away. The change in her was so sudden, so unexpected, it startled Chuck. He watched her, worried.

Chuck was about to ask Sarah if she was alright, but before he could, Sarah shook her head and chuckled. "Because lord knows I don't have a sense of humor," she said.

Chuck let out a breath, relief pushing away the worry. Then he frowned as he realized what she'd said — and what it meant.

"Sarah, the only way you'd put those two thoughts together is if you remembered our first date."

As quickly as Sarah had relaxed a moment before, her entire body snapped back, as tight as a bow string. She stood up straight, muscles rigid. Her hands gripped the railing so tight they were turning white. Her gaze was focused on the fountains and the hotel beyond.

"Dammit," she said under her breath.

* * *

Sarah stepped up to the railing overlooking the fountains. She could feel Chuck's frustration, thick and palpable. Lord knew, she was frustrated too, just for different reasons.

Sarah was surprised Chuck hadn't gone all emotional on her. He hadn't told her how much he missed her, how much he loved her, how much he wanted her back. A small part of her, hidden deep inside, was sad that he hadn't. It prodded at her to find out why. She pushed it down. She didn't need to ask. She knew why. He'd changed since she'd seen him last. He'd finally realized she wasn't worth his love. But if that was the case, why had he worked for the past year to find her?

She knew Chuck. The myriad of her returning memories painted a detailed picture of who he was. He wasn't vindictive. He didn't hold a grudge. He was the exact opposite. Quick to trust, to forgive, … to love. That contradiction made everything just that much more frustrating.

But then, in a heartbeat, he'd shifted the energy between them. He'd channeled his frustration into humor. Saying he'd wished she was a cannibal. So very Chuck-like. He'd faced such adversity throughout his life. Despite overwhelming odds that would have made a lesser person angry and cynical, Chuck had never lost his humanity. He'd never lost his way. This was the essence of Chuck. He'd been a light in the darkness for not only him, but for her, too. She  _felt_  it, more than she knew it.

At his quip, a memory flashed into her mind.

Sarah couldn't help but let out a laugh. The memory lightened her heart and warmed her inside. A warmth she hadn't felt in a long time. And those emotions surprised her.

Normally Sarah didn't experience emotions when her memories returned. They'd play across her mind like the black and white outline on the page of a coloring book, an image devoid of color. But now, feelings coursed through her, the memory bright with the hues of emotion. This was different. Intense. Frightening, even. But she didn't fight the feelings. She let them flow through her as her memory ran its course.

The memory was of her sitting across from Chuck at a restaurant. They were on their first — fake — date. When she'd been trying to figure out if he was a bad guy or a good guy. Trying to figure out if she'd have to kill him at the end of the evening, or let him live.

He'd declared that something must be wrong with her if she was willing to stoop so low as to date someone like him. That she must be either a cannibal or have no sense of humor. And he'd made her laugh. A true laugh, not a fake laugh. Absurdly, charmingly, endearingly funny. Several years later Sarah had tracked-back to that conversation as being the exact moment when she had fallen for Chuck.

Chuck was always so funny. And his humor was always so perfect. It just made her feel better. Lighter. Like there was no problem too big that the two of them couldn't solve. His humor had gotten them through some of the most dangerous and hopeless situations she'd ever experienced. It was part of his irrepressible, positive outlook on everything and everyone. She'd grown to love that about him.

Sarah stared ahead, her eyes unfocused, enjoying the memory and surprised at the emotions swirling through her body.

Then Chuck's words crashed into her. "Sarah, the only way you'd put those two thoughts together is if you remembered our first date."

Her mind snapped back to the present, realizing what Chuck had said. He'd connected the dots. Of course he had — he was brilliant, after all. And now, the cat was out of the bag.

"Dammit," Sarah said, under her breath.

This conversation was not going the way she'd planned. She'd come to tell Chuck he needed to leave. To tell him there was nothing to say about their past together — no admonitions, no apologies. Above all else, she'd never had any intent to reveal that her memories had started to return. Nothing good could come from that.

And yet, Chuck had done what he always did — he'd made her forget about her problems, if only for a micro-second. Emotion had gotten the better of her. She'd let down her guard and now he knew the thing she most wanted to keep hidden. And the fact that he knew meant she'd just stabbed him deep in his heart — again. Even when she didn't want to, it seemed that all she could do was hurt Chuck.

"Sarah?" Chuck said, pulling her out of her thoughts. "Are you okay?"

"Chuck, you need to leave," Sarah said.

"Have you remembered things?" he asked, ignoring her directive. His expression was intense, focused. Not the yearning hopefulness she would have expected.

"Chuck-"

"Tell me," he snapped.

Surprised, Sarah leaned away. But he didn't soften. He was angry. He had come this far and he obviously wanted answers. She probably owed him that.

Sarah forced herself to relax. She turned back toward the fountains. She took in a long breath, then let it out. "Yes," she sighed.

She felt Chuck's eyes on her. Eventually his quiet voice asked, "When?"

Her chest was thick with guilt. She was afraid of his reaction, of his judgement. It was the same fear that had fueled her every action over the past year. But she wouldn't lie to him. Whether a lie, or the truth, it would be another pierce to his heart. Better for it to be the truth.

"About a year ago. Just before I found out you were trying to find me," she said, her heart heavy.

"What memories? How many?" he asked.

Sarah paused, knowing this might be the coup de grace. But there was no going back now. "Most of them. They come back in waves. They're still coming back."

A heavy silence stretched out. She'd done it, again. Ruined his life, again. She wanted him to say something. Yell at her. Curse at her. Anything but this silence. Finally, she couldn't take it any longer.

"Chuck-" she said, but he cut her off.

"Why didn't you tell me." His voice was almost a whisper as he stared at her. "Why didn't you contact me? Why didn't you come home? We could have worked through this. We could have taken back what Quinn stole from us."

Sarah turned, forcing herself to look into his eyes. She swallowed hard. "The only thing," she paused, then said it again for emphasis, "the … only … thing … that was constant in our relationship was me hurting you over and over and over, again and again and again. I can't hurt you any more, Chuck. You deserve better. You deserve more. And I don't deserve you.

She braced herself for his tirade. For his condemnation. For his pleading. But none of that came.

"You're wrong," he said, quietly. "One other thing has always been constant in our relationship." There was conviction in his voice as his brown eyes burned into hers. "Love," he said. "There was always love."

Sarah dropped her head, the shame and guilt she'd fought so hard to keep buried, rising inside her like a ground swell. Her eyes burned, but she refused to let the tears come.

"At first, I loved you," he said. "Then, you loved me. And then, we loved each other." He blew out a breath. "The love was always there. Always."

Out of the corner of her eye Sarah saw Chuck begin to reach for her, but then stop himself. Her mind was relieved, but her heart was sad. She knew he longed to touch her. That was how he was — who he was. She'd remembered that. But with him so close, those memories started to vibrate with emotion they'd never had until now. Just like the memory of their first date just moments before.

Chuck stood, frozen in place. Moments passed. Eventually, he said, "I am so sorry, Sarah. This is all my fault."

Sarah looked up, surprised. "What?" was all she could say.

"I know you. We were friends. Then partners. Then lovers. Then … spouses," Chuck said. "Finally, this is all clear to me. If I'd come after you when you left, you wouldn't be in this situation. You wouldn't be beating yourself up — on the inside as well as the outside." He turned away from her, looking out toward the fountains. "I was a coward. I was afraid if I pushed you, you'd never come back. But I was wrong. I should have come after you as soon as you left. If I had …" his voice choked and he went silent.

Sarah stared at Chuck, stunned. Of all of the ways this discussion could have gone, this was not one she'd considered. Chuck taking on the blame for her self-destructive behavior was … well, it just wasn't right. This was just another example of how she did nothing but hurt him. She needed to end this. Now.

"Chuck, go back to Burbank," Sarah said. "You've found me. You've seen me. You've talked to me. Mission accomplished. There's nothing more to say. There's nothing more to do."

"Sarah-" Chuck turned to her, starting his retort.

"No, Chuck," Sarah barked, cutting him off. "This is not your fault. Nothing is your fault. You deserve more than this … than me." Sarah shuddered at her own words. "Go back home. Find someone better. Start a new life."

Sarah's words filled her with a familiar grief. But she'd said what she needed to say. She spun on her heels and started walking away.

"Sarah!" Chuck called after her.

Sarah increased her pace. She couldn't turn around. She couldn't face Chuck any longer. She couldn't stand to see the sadness in his eyes. She couldn't let him see the tears that she'd kept pushed down for the past two years, running down her face.

* * *

Sarah stared at her feet, which had made their way back to O'Flannery's Gym on autopilot. She walked inside, down the hallway, into the main room, heading toward the locker room door. When she reached the door, she looked up and stopped. O'Flannery stood in front of her. She sniffed, knowing her eyes were red and she looked terrible.

"Come with me, Lass," O'Flannery said. His tone was soft, but made clear he'd accept no resistance.

O'Flannery gently grasped Sarah's elbow and led her to his office. He closed the door. Sarah slumped down into the small chair she'd sat in earlier. He sat in his chair and pulled out a pint of whiskey and two small paper cups from a desk drawer. He poured a splash into each cup and pushed one across the desk to Sarah. He downed his in one gulp. Sarah did the same and set her cup on the desk. The liquor burned going down. The pain made her focus, cleared her thoughts. And her thoughts, right now, were about Chuck.

O'Flannery gave her a sober look. "Over the past week I've watched you get kicked, punched and thrown. Bent and twisted and beaten. Through all of that, I've not seen you in as much pain as you are now, Lass."

He poured another shot into each cup. Downed his, as before. Sarah drank hers as well.

They sat, not speaking. Sarah appreciated the silence. She appreciated the man. He made her feel safe. He seemed to care about her. Even though it was hard to admit to herself, she needed that right now.

"I take it you had a chat with our Mr. Carmichael … with Charles," O'Flannery said.

Sarah looked at the floor and nodded.

"You know, Lass, I think I've got you figured out," he said.

Sarah let out a scoff and continued to study the cracks in the concrete floor.

"He's the reason you're doing this — punishing yourself, over and over," O'Flannery said. "You've done something to the lad and you think it's unforgivable."

Sarah looked up, wondering how he could know this.

O'Flannery chuckled. "Don't look so surprised, Lassie." He pointed at himself. "Old man, here. Lot a years under these wrinkles. Life's a good teacher, if nothing else." He leaned back in his chair. "Besides, it's written all over your face. And all over his, for that matter. He loves you, as sure as the sun rises in the east."

Sarah didn't respond. She just slumped back in her chair.

"Like I told you, that boy was ready to take on Benny when he grabbed you and Blood Rayne took that cheap shot. Now, I'll admit, he's a tall fella. But he's no fighter. Benny would have mopped the floor with him."

"You'd be surprised," Sarah said, watching the toes of her shoes scuff the floor.

"Nah, I wouldn't. I've been trainin' fighters my entire life. He doesn't move like a fighter. But you missed my point, Lass."

Sarah stilled her feet and looked up at O'Flannery.

"My point is that even though he'd have gotten himself seriously whooped, the only thing he was thinking about was taking care of you."

Another pang of guilt shot through Sarah. She blew out a breath. "This is not helping," she said.

O'Flannery let a few beats of silence pass. Then he gently said, "Lass, the burden you've hefted on your shoulders is burying you. Maybe it's time you lightened the load - just a little."

Sarah looked away.

"Sarah," O'Flannery said quietly.

Hearing her name made her turn back to him. She fought the tears welling in her eyes.

"Sarah, dear, talk about it. Just a wee bit. That's all. It will help." He gave her a smile. "Trust an old man who knows."

O'Flannery was right. The weight of her guilt and self-loathing was killing her. She knew it, but didn't know how to escape the burden. She wasn't sure she should. But right here, right now, she needed some relief. And she trusted the old gym rat. He'd done nothing but show her acceptance and affection.

"His name's, Chuck. And I hurt him. I hurt him, so bad," Sarah choked out as sobs climbed up into her throat.

"Okay," O'Flannery said, gently. "How?"

"I can't tell you the details. They're classified," she said, struggling to get the words out.

"Then tell me what you can, Lass."

"I was injured … on the job. I lost five years of memories," Sarah said, her sobs subsiding as her mind focused on her story. She continued, her voice just above a whisper. "When I woke up, I didn't remember Chuck. I didn't remember meeting him, I didn't remember us working together … as partners." She took a breath and paused.

When she didn't continue, "O'Flannery said, "There's more to it, isn't there, Lass?"

Sarah nodded. She took in another breath. "We fell in love," she said, her voice shaky. She began to tremble and wrapped her arms around herself. "We were … married." Silent tears ran down her cheeks.

O'Flannery came around the desk and knelt in front of Sarah, holding his arms open. She slid off the chair onto her knees and into his embrace. Sobs racked her body as she fought for breath. She didn't know what to do. She didn't know what to say. So, she just let him hold her. And she cried.

A long time passed before Sarah felt strong enough to pull back and compose herself. O'Flannery helped her back into her chair. He went back and sat in his.

Finally, Sarah felt calm enough to finish the story. O'Flannery deserved that much.

"I left him. Two years ago. I couldn't live a life I didn't remember. I couldn't be what he wanted. I couldn't hurt him anymore. And I don't deserve him. Not Chuck. He's selfless and caring and compassionate." Sarah gave O'Flannery a small smile. "You remind me of him."

O'Flannery smiled back. "From what you've told me, I believe that's high praise. But I'm confused."

"About …?"

"Well, at first you said you couldn't remember him," O'Flannery explained. "But you just told me you know what kind of man he is and that I  _reminded_ you of him. The two don't mesh, if you see what I'm gettin' at."

Sarah turned away in shame. "I …-" she stopped, sucking in a breath. "Fuck."

"Sarah, Lass," O'Flannery's voice was gentle again. "You remember, don't you."

Sarah let out a sardonic chuckle. "How do you figure this stuff out?"

"Oh, Lass," he said with a sympathetic lilt, "it's not that hard."

She bit her knuckle, wondering if she should tell O'Flannery about her memories. About how they'd started to return and hadn't stopped coming. Then her mind went to her experience earlier with Chuck. When her memory of their first date returned but the  _emotions_  had unfolded inside her as well. That had never happened before.

"They started coming back about a year ago," Sarah said. "I … didn't know what to do with them."

"And the guilt just got worse, so you didn't go back home," O'Flannery added.

Sarah gave him a sidelong glance and nodded. "You know, you're kind of scary," she said.

O'Flannery grinned. "Go on," he said.

"They were like black and white pictures. Like reports of events. But I didn't have any experience to put them in context. So, they didn't have meaning. I couldn't relate to them."

"You couldn't feel anything," O'Flannery said.

"Now that's just creepy," she said with a smile. "But, yeah. My memories were returning, but I felt nothing. It's awful when you remember your own wedding but can't attach any emotion to it. You just watch it play across your mind like a movie, but there's no connection."

"You seemed pretty emotional when you got back here," O'Flannery said. "So, you've got a wee bit of feelings about all of this."

"Something happened with Chuck today," she said.

"What?"

"We were talking … arguing actually … and he got frustrated and dropped into his habit of cracking a joke when things get too tense. That triggered a memory. But it was different. The memory returned, but so did the feelings around it, and what it represented about Chuck … about us. It wasn't just a data point in time. It was all there, the memory and the feelings."

Sarah shook her head in frustration. "It's never happened that way. Usually the memories are just … well … they're flat. I don't have any emotions connected to them. It's like looking at someone else's vacation pictures. You don't feel happy or excited or satisfied because you didn't have the experience. You just have the pictures."

"Huh," O'Flannery said, and rubbed his chin.

"What?" Sarah said.

"Well, I'm no shrink," he said.

Sarah interjected. "Could have fooled me."

"But … let me see if I can get my pea-brain to explain this in a way that will make sense to both of us," O'Flannery said. He rubbed his chin some more, his eyes unfocused, thinking hard.

"Ah," he finally said. "See if this makes any sense. You've obviously had classical martial arts training. Your style shows it. Do you remember the first lessons your sensei taught you?"

"Yeah," Sarah said, giving him skeptical look.

"All you did was practice forms. Practice, practice and practice," he said. "Over and over and over."

"Wax on. Wax off," Sarah said.

O'Flannery barked out a laugh. "Exactly," he said. "Pretty boring, right? You wondered, why all the repetition."

Sarah nodded.

"Now, do you remember your first sparing experience when you tried to use those forms?"

"Sure. Everybody remembers their first time. I got my butt kicked," Sarah said.

"How did that make you feel?"

"Frustrated. Mad at myself."

"Did that experience motivate you?" he asked.

"Of course. It made me work harder."

"Why?"

Sarah chuffed. "So I wouldn't get my butt kicked."

"Aye," O'Flannery said. "Your experience getting whooped put the hours of practice in context. It was all starting to have meaning."

Sarah nodded, but she still wasn't sure where O'Flannery was going with this.

"Do you remember the first sparing experience where you used those forms successfully? You kept your butt from getting kicked. Or maybe you even kicked some butt?"

Sarah felt her lips turn up in a smile at the memory. She nodded.

"Again, how did that make you feel?" he asked.

"Incredible," Sarah said. "It was like someone turned on the light. I finally believed I might be able to actually defend myself. I might even be able to get good at it."

"And again, did that experience motivate you?"

Sarah thought for a moment. "Yes. It made me want to work harder. But not to avoid the pain. I started loving the sport. They physicality, the challenge, the exhilaration."

"Okay!" O'Flannery crowed, folding his arms across his chest with a satisfied grin.

Sarah gave him a puzzled look. "Okay … what?"

O'Flannery rolled his eyes. "Sure and Little Missy must have knocked something loose up there today," he said pointing to Sarah's head.

She scowled at him.

He shrugged but gave her a sly smile. "You had a memory return today, didn't you, Lass?"

"Yes."

"But there was something different this time. You also felt the emotion connected with that memory. From what you told me, that hasn't happened before."

"Okay."

"What was different today than all of the other times your memories resurfaced?"

Suddenly Sarah saw where O'Flannery was heading. She didn't like it, not one bit. She shook her head. "No. Nada. Not going there."

"Lass, you're a smart girl," O'Flannery said, his tone impatient. "Act like it."

Sarah huffed at him. "Chuck. That's what was different. Chuck said something funny and I laughed. I had that experience. But I still don't get it."

"Oh Jesus, Joseph and Mary," O'Flannery said, crossing himself and looking up. "Give me strength, Lord."

"Not helping," Sarah said.

O'Flannery looked back at Sarah and sighed. "Your memories are like your martial arts form lessons. Meaningless until you connect them to an experience and an emotion. Then they take on new meaning. They become important, critical to your survival — if you don't want to keep getting your ass kicked, that is. They motivate you to keep working at getting better. At first, it's to avoid the pain. But later, it's to grab onto the happiness."

O'Flannery shrugged his shoulders, giving Sarah an exasperated look.

"You're saying that because I had an experience with Chuck, and felt an emotion, it brought back my memory?"

"Aye," O'Flannery said. "But it's more than that. The experience in the present created the emotion, which you were able to link to the memory, giving it meaning."

Sarah was still skeptical and her face must have shown it.

O'Flannery said, "What do you think would have happened if, instead of wise-cracking, he reached out and touched your hand? How would that have felt? What memories would have come back to you?"

The thought of Chuck taking her hand lit tandem sparks of terror and longing, inside her. It was almost too much to think about. She shook her head, wanting O'Flannery to stop.

"What if he'd reached out and held you?"

Sarah shook her head back and forth harder. "No, not going to happen," she said.

"What if he'd kissed you?"

"Stop!" Sarah said, and realized she'd shouted the word. She looked around in embarrassment, as if there might be others in the small office, and then collapsed back into the chair.

Silence hung between them for a long time.

Finally, O'Flannery sighed. "I'm sorry, Lass. I shouldn't have pushed you. It's just hard to watch you do this to yourself when I know how precious love is and how quickly life can take it away." He took in a breath, then continued, his voice cracking. "I'd give anything to have my Sarah back. We fought hard, we did. But cancer was bigger than the both of us."

He stopped, then cleared his throat. "But it pains my heart to watch you, Lass. Knowing that the only one you need to stand up to and fight, is yourself. I've not seen you back down from a fight. I don't believe it's in your nature. Don't back down from this one. Because it's the most important fight you'll ever have."

Sarah looked up at O'Flannery. His eyes were glassy with unshed tears. His face was sad and worried. She wasn't angry with him. She couldn't be. All he wanted to do was help. All he wanted was for her to be happy. For her to have the kind of love he'd had with his Sarah. He believed she could find it … again.

And if he believed it, why couldn't she?

Sarah slowly pulled herself to her feet and reached for the door. She needed to think. About what O'Flannery had said. About Chuck. About her. And she was emotionally exhausted. She needed some downtime and rest.

"You're a good man, Ryan O'Flannery," Sarah said, softly. "I don't deserve to have you in my life, but I'm grateful I do. Thank you."

"Sarah, Lass," O'Flannery said. "It's me that's not deserving of you. But I'm grateful that you put up with me anyway." He nodded toward the door. "Will I be seein' you tomorrow?"

Sarah smiled. "You can't get rid of me that easily. And, there's still a fat pile of money calling my name," she said and winked at him.

"Aye, and there's that," he said, and laughed as Sarah walked out the door.

* * *

Although tired, Sarah new she couldn't sleep in the middle of the day. So she walked, and walked, and then, walked some more. And she thought.

She thought about what O'Flannery had said. About the relationship between her memories and emotions and experiences. About the story he'd told her of his wife. About his petition for her to fight. For herself. For Chuck. For them both, together.

She thought about her conversation with Chuck. About how he'd somehow come to the conclusion he was to blame for everything. About how she needed to dissuade him of that notion. About how she wasn't sure how do to that.

Then there were the emotions she'd felt in Chuck's presence. Real and intense. And frightening. Emotions so long absent from her life that she'd forgotten how important they were to living — to feeling alive. And she had felt alive. Even for just a moment.

The sun was moving toward the western horizon when Sarah found herself in front of her motel. She was even more tired than before. But now she figured she could sleep. Because she'd made a decision. Whether or not it was the right decision, only time would tell.

She wouldn't try to force Chuck to leave when she saw him next. And she knew he'd be back at O'Flannery's gym. He was like dog with a bone when he set his mind to something. She'd decided that she'd try to talk with him again. But this time, she'd try to listen, rather than tell him what to do. This time she'd try to understand him, rather than try to dismiss him. Even if the only outcome was that they both agreed to disagree, at least she'd have tried. At least she'd have fought the good fight.

Though it probably wouldn't clear her conscience, maybe it would clear Chuck's.

That would be enough for her.


	3. Chapter 3

Sleep was uncooperative with Chuck. Again. It had come begrudgingly, in small doses. He woke up tired, with a headache. But he was motivated. At least he'd talked to Sarah. He needed to see her again. He wasn't sure what he'd do, but the alternative was to give up and leave. That wasn't an option.

He managed to drag himself to O'Flannery's by ten in the morning.

"Good day to ya, Charles," O'Flannery said as he ushered Chuck through gym's front door.

Chuck nodded. "Good morning, Mr. O'Flannery."

O'Flannery gave him a once over. "You look like you had a wee bit of a run-in with a shillelagh."

Chuck snorted.

"Coffee?" O'Flannery asked as they walked down the hall to the main gym area.

"That would be awesome. Thanks."

They stepped out into the gym and Chuck began to scan the space, searching for Sarah.

"She's not here," O'Flannery said.

Chuck turned to see the older man watching him closely. Then a flash of panic hit him. Maybe Sarah wouldn't be back. Maybe his presence had scared her and she'd run. And if she ran now, she'd make damn sure he'd never be able to track her down again.

O'Flannery must have seen the panic in Chuck's eyes. "Don't worry, Lad. She'll be here today. Just have a bit of patience."

Chuck didn't know how O'Flannery could be so sure. Worry took root as he made his way to a small bench in a corner of the room. It was far away for everyone, an unobtrusive vantage point.

There were a couple of new VIPs' in the gym today. He chuckled to himself at how easy it was to spot them, adorned with their symbols of wealth and power. He'd never sought wealth or power. He'd only wanted one thing in his life. He'd had her once. He was trying to get her back.

A few minutes later O'Flannery came over with two cups of coffee. He handed one to Chuck and sat down.

"Sorry for spilling coffee all over yesterday," Chuck said.

"Twas a mess, for sure," O'Flannery chuckled. "But, no worries. Nothing a mop and a bucket didn't fix right up."

They sat for a long while, watching the women sparing inside the yellow taped outline on the mats in the middle of the room. Chuck noticed that the crazy brunette woman from the day before was moving through a training circuit on the weights and bags around the perimeter of the room. Benny shadowed her. His huge frame was hard to miss, even as he tried to stay in the background.

"You know, Chuck … may I call you, Chuck?" O'Flannery asked.

Chuck turned and saw the huge grin on the older man's face and the sparkle in his eye.

"She told you who I am." Chuck said.

"Aye, she did," O'Flannery said. "And thanks to you I can finally call her Sarah, instead of that other abomination of a name."

Chuck let out a soft laugh.

O'Flannery gave Chuck a look, then said, "You know how she came by that awful name, don't you, son."

"Yeah," Chuck said. "It's a long story."

O'Flannery shook his head. "That's what she said."

"What else did she tell you?" Chuck asked.

"Enough," O'Flannery said. "About the memories. About your twining together. It made sense out of the way you looked at her yesterday morning."

Chuck turned his head back toward the mat. "That obvious, huh?"

"Oh, Lad, there's no shame in wearing the love of a woman on your sleeve for all to see."

Chuck chuffed. "I just wish she could see it."

"Is that what you think's going on?" O'Flannery asked. "That she doesn't see it? Doesn't know it?"

Chuck shrugged.

"Sure and she knows it, Laddie. She knows it down to her bones."

"Then I wish I could figure out why she won't come home."

"Because she's scared, Lad. It's as simple as that."

"Scared of what?"

"Scared of hurtin' you. Scared she won't be like she was." O'Flannery was quiet for a few moments, then said, "Something like that changes a person. Redefines 'em. They're still the same person … but different, too. Sure and the same's happened to you, as well."

Chuck rubbed both hands back and forth over his knees. "I wish I could make her see there's nothing to be scared of."

O'Flannery sipped his coffee thoughtfully, then asked, "Why are you here, Lad?"

Chuck looked up at O'Flannery, a little taken aback. Wasn't it obvious? "To win her back. To take her back home, if she'll let me."

Pushing out a sigh, O'Flannery said, "There's no going  _back_ , Laddie. Only forward. It's a fool's errand to try and rebuild the past. But building a future, now that's a journey worth taking."

Something in O'Flannery's words struck a chord in Chuck. He'd always assumed if Sarah's memories returned, she'd go back to the way she'd been - the old Sarah. But he knew he wasn't the old Chuck. He'd changed over the past two years. He couldn't go back to how he used to be. And it was foolish of him to think that Sarah could go back to the way she'd been, or even think that she'd want to.

O'Flannery's perception that Sarah was scared made more sense to him now. If he wanted to get Sarah back … no, not get her back … if he wanted to build a future with her, he needed to convince her that he could start with her, right here, right now. That the past wouldn't define them. That what they created from this point forward would be the new foundation to build their life on. He'd won her over before. She'd fallen in love with him before. They'd done it before. They could do it again. He just needed to get her to trust him.

But the fear and uncertainty he'd felt for the past year still hovered over him. Even more oppressive now than before. He'd found her but he still couldn't figure out what to actually do about it. How could he approach her? What could he say that might keep her from shutting him out, if even for a few minutes? What could he do to keep her from running away again?

Chuck blew out a breath. "Building a future. Yeah. I think I understand," he said. "I don't know what I can do without pushing her away. But I won't continue doing nothing. I've doing nothing long enough. She deserves more from me." Chuck stared at the concrete floor and shook his head. "I just don't know what she needs from me."

O'Flannery let out a belly laugh. Chuck looked at him in surprise.

"Oh, Lad," O'Flannery said as he tried to stifle his laughter. "That's an easy one. Why don't you just ask her?"

The older man's words rang simple and true. Chuck couldn't help but smile. "I'm an idiot," he said.

"A fool in love, is a fool indeed," O'Flannery said. "If only fools we all were, every day."

"Right," Chuck said, staring back down at the floor, "I'll just … ask her. That shouldn't be so hard. Now I just need to figure out when."

"I'd say, in about three hours," O'Flannery said.

"Huh?" Chuck said. He looked back at O'Flannery, confused.

O'Flannery pointed across the huge space. Chuck's eyes landed on Sarah at the far side of the gym, jumping rope.

"Her workout usually lasts about three hours," O'Flannery said. "Why don't I tell her you'd like to take her to a late lunch."

"I … Do you think …" Chuck took a second to get a grip, then said, "Yeah. That's a great idea."

"That's me boy-o," O'Flannery said and slapped Chuck on the back. He rose and walked toward the other side of the gym.

As O'Flannery made his way to Sarah, Chuck watched her work the jump rope. She altered cadence and rhythm, sped-up, slowed-down, jumped on both feet and alternated feet. Her muscles bunched and stretched like steel cords. Her dexterity and coordination were unbelievable. And she was fast. Faster than Chuck could ever remember. He was mesmerized.

O'Flannery approached Sarah and she stopped. They talked for a few moments and then O'Flannery pointed in Chuck's direction and she glanced at Chuck, her eyes meeting his for a mere moment. They spoke some more and then both turned toward Chuck. O'Flannery had a huge grin on his face. Sarah gave Chuck a nod and he thought he might have caught the hint of a smile on her lips, but she was too far away to be sure.

As Sarah nodded her affirmation Chuck's entire body jerked, like a bolt of electricity had just shot through him. His mind spun for a moment. She'd said yes. She was willing to talk with him. To have a meal with him. After they'd separated yesterday he'd never have thought something like this was possible. It was O'Flannery's influence, he was certain. For some reason this man liked Sarah. And he seemed to genuinely like Chuck, too. No matter the outcome of his meeting with Sarah, Chuck knew he owed O'Flannery a debt that would be hard to repay.

* * *

Chuck watched Sarah and the other fighters train for the next several hours. A couple of times Sarah and the small brunette passed close to each other as they moved through the workout stations around the perimeter of the gym. At one point the brunette purposefully shoulder checked Sarah as they passed each other. Sarah didn't react, just moved to the next station. The brunette scowled at not getting a reaction.

Sarah eventually completed her workout, finished stretching and went into the women's locker room. Chuck walked down the hallway to the small front entrance lobby. He sat in an old red, vinyl chair and waited nervously.

It wasn't long before Sarah walked into the small room. She stopped a few feet from him. Her hair was damp from her shower. She had no makeup on. She was dressed in a pair of gray yoga pants and her baggy blue sweatshirt. Her gym bag was slung across one shoulder. Chuck thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. He always had. She looked different now. But she was still  _his_ Sarah.

He remembered the first time he'd seen Sarah at the Nerd Herd desk. His stomach had been invaded by a thousand butterflies then. They were back.

He stood. "Hi," he said, forcing the word out past the butterflies.

"Hi," Sarah said, ducking her head a little.

"Thanks for talking with me."

"Sure."

"I have to admit, I was surprised."

"O'Flannery's persuasive."

Chuck let out a laugh. "That's an understatement."

A few beats of silence passed between them. Then Sarah said, "To be honest, after yesterday, I decided that I wanted to talk to you again. I owe you that much."

A spark of hope flared inside Chuck. But he tempered it with caution. "You don't owe me anything, Sarah," Chuck said softly. "In fact, it's me that owes you an apology for barging into your life like this."

Sarah shrugged. "Fair enough."

Chuck gestured toward the door. "You're probably hungry after that workout."

Sarah nodded. "Starving. I guess we're lucky I'm not a cannibal."

Chuck froze. Sarah was still mad about his cannibal comment from yesterday. The hope he'd felt a minute ago dimmed. He'd wanted just to talk with her, without any agenda or expectations. But he'd poisoned the well yesterday. He wished he'd never uttered those words seven years ago. Now, those same words were coming back around to haunt him. He supposed she had a right to be angry with him. That's probably why she wanted to talk to him again.

His shoulders slumped and he looked away, mortified.

* * *

Sarah watched as her cannibal comment sucked all the wind out of Chuck's sails. His smile disappeared, his body turned in on itself and he looked away.

A spike of panic hit her. Without thinking she stepped up, reached out and gently took his arm. It was automatic. Muscle memory. She'd done this. A thousand times before. She knew it.

A memory slid into her mind. They were walking hand in hand through the courtyard of their apartment complex, returning home after a mission. He'd saved her from a being shot. Protected her, like he always did. The gratitude and relief and affection she'd felt in the courtyard then, washed through her now, so visceral she shivered.

In the split second that passed, Chuck had turned back to her. He looked at her hand on his arm. The confusion was plain on his face, the sadness clear in his eyes.

"Chuck, it's okay. I'm … sorry about the cannibal comment." She shook her head in frustration. She was sorry for how her comment had affected Chuck. But she wasn't sorry for how it had affected her. "But, I'm not sorry, either."

Chuck tilted his head, bringing his eyes back to hers. He looked even more confused. Confused was good. Confused was better than anger or surrender.

Sarah sighed. "It's complicated."

Chuck looked down and his face morphed into a scowl. "I hate that word."

In the blink of an eye a series of memories burst in Sarah's mind. She was startled at how hard her stomach clinched at that word.  _Complicated_. She'd used that word to rationalize keeping her distance from Chuck. The emotions linked to the memories sweeping through her were powerful and painful. She'd hid in fear behind that word for years. A heavy sadness tightened her chest. She struggled to swallow.

"Let's just go have lunch … and talk. Okay?" Sarah said, pushing out the words. She let her hand slip from his arm.

Chuck lifted his head. His smile was forced. "Sure," he said.

Sarah took in a relieved breath. "There's a taco truck two blocks up. Enchiladas to die for," Sarah said and headed out the door.

As they walked down the alley toward the street Sarah thought she heard something behind them. She glanced back over her shoulder. The door to O'Flannery's was open a few inches and she saw a flash of brown as someone pulled their head back from the crack between the door and the frame as the old wooden door slowly closed. She shook her head. She had nothing to worry about. She wasn't training and she wasn't yet sequestered for the tournament. She could talk to whoever she wanted, even one of Taggart's VIPs.

Half an hour later they sat at a small wooden picnic table set off to the side of the food truck, situated in the corner of a large private parking lot. Sarah had already finished two large enchiladas. She was half-way through her third. She looked up and saw Chuck patiently watching her. She realized she must look like a ravenous animal.

"Sorry," Sarah said, through a mouth full of food. "Burn a lot of calories."

"I guess," Chuck said, a little humor in his voice.

Sarah wiped her mouth and sat back. She was grateful Chuck seemed more relaxed. She, on the other hand, was starting to tense up like a cat backed into a corner. She forced herself to take in several deep breaths. She was here to listen to Chuck — without judgment or contempt. To understand him. To let him say what he needed to say. After that … well, they'd just have to wait and see.

"I'm sorry I was such a bitch, yesterday," Sarah began. "You deserved better."

"You have nothing to apologize for," Chuck replied. "It was unfair for me to ambush you."

"Thanks for acknowledging that," Sarah said. "So … clean slate?"

"Clean slate," Chuck agreed.

"Good," Sarah said. "I promised myself that when you came back, I'd be quiet and listen to you."

"You assumed I'd be back?" Chuck asked.

Sarah gave him a flat look.

Chuck smiled at that. "That means you remember stuff about me."

"There are some things that I remember. You're …  _dogged determination_  … is one."

"You mean my pig-headedness," Chuck said.

Sarah felt her lips turn up into a genuine smile. Chuck's humor disarmed her, made her relax. It always had. The memory and emotion fused, filling her chest with a soft warmth.

"I just want to try and understand where you're coming from," she said.

"That's what I want. Well … kind of." He stared at the picnic table top, as if studying the grain of the wood. "O'Flannery said something that made me think."

That piqued Sarah's interest. "Oh?" she said.

"He said that, no matter what, neither one of us can go back to the way we were before. We're different people now. He told me that if I really cared about you, there was only one thing to do."

The warmth in Sarah's chest began to drain away, replaced by a clinging sadness. It sounded like Chuck was getting clear with letting go. For the longest time she'd wanted him to let go and he hadn't. Now, when it looked like he was about to, she wasn't sure she wanted him to. She steeled herself. No matter what he said, she just needed to listen.

Sarah took in a breath. "And what's that?"

"It's pretty simple. Actually, I'm ashamed I didn't think of it myself." He shifted uncomfortably on the bench, agitated, still staring at the table top. "He said I just need to ask you … what you need. And then help you, not matter what your answer is. He's right. No matter what you need, no matter where you go or what you do, I want to help. Even if it means … you need me to leave you alone." Chuck looked up, his brown eyes capturing hers. "So, Sarah Walker, what do you need from me?"

Once again, a conversation with Chuck had gone in a completely different direction than she'd anticipated. Somehow he'd changed what he'd come to do in Las Vegas. Or maybe, not changed, but clarified. It looked like O'Flannery had helped him put things in perspective. Instead of her being quiet and listening to Chuck and what his needs were, he'd turned the tables on her — again.

As Sarah thought about his question she wasn't exactly sure how to respond. It dawned on her that she hadn't considered her own needs in a very long time. Instead, she'd been fueled by her guilt and remorse. Guilt and remorse left no room for self.

Her memories were returning. She couldn't stop them. But they were devoid of meaning, of emotion, of any sort of context. They filled her mind with emptiness. To have your thoughts filled by things you couldn't relate to was annoying at best and painful at worst. Sometimes, when the memories returned, their circumstances made it clear that the situation had been a powerful and meaningful experience. But to be engulfed by a memory and still have no emotion about it was excruciating. She'd had enough emotional pain in her life since Quinn had stolen her memories. Now that they were coming back, the pain wasn't lessening — it was getting worse.

What did she need? As she thought about Chuck's question she realized the thing she needed most was relief from the pain of knowing, but not feeling. That pain, along with her never ceasing self-loathing and shame, drove her into the cage. It drove her to fight. When she fought, there was relief. If only for a short time. But relief was still relief, no matter how fleeting. Still, the aftermath of the cage was taking a costly toll on her physical and mental self. Someday she'd reach a point where fighting didn't keep the pain at bay. With her memories returning at a faster pace, that point was probably closer than she was willing to admit.

She couldn't ask Chuck to help her deal with the disconnect of emotions and memories. Could she? Sarah didn't even know how to explain it to him even if she wanted to. That would pull Chuck deeper into the muck and mire that was Sarah Walker. Pull him deeper into her pain. And if history was any judge, that would only have one result. She'd hurt him — again. She didn't deserve his help, anyway. The longer she had any contact with Chuck, the more likely her very presence would be toxic to him.

Sarah was jolted out of her thoughts by a warmth surrounded her hand. She looked down and saw that Chuck had reached across the picnic table, gently taking her hand in his. She stared at their hands as a distant voice slowly grew louder.

"Sarah? Sarah, are you okay?"

The voice. It was Chuck. He was concerned about her. She could hear it in his tone, feel it in his hand. But she couldn't force her mind to return to the present. The touch of his hand on hers, the contact of skin to skin, sent an electric current up her arm, filling her mind. Memories and emotions flared up at the same time. Overwhelming. Frightening. Incapacitating. In the past year as her memories had slowly returned, Sarah had never experienced anything like this. Memories and emotions crashed together, washing over her like a tidal wave. Rendering her completely helpless.

"Sarah." Chuck's voice. On the edge of her awareness. Beckoning her back.

She fought, clawing upward through the cloying clutches of emotion, struggling toward the light. She battled to break free from the oppressive weight.

"Sarah?"

Hands softly landed on her shoulders, shaking her.

"Sarah! Come back to me."

Her mind snapped free, her awareness breaking the surface. Chuck was sitting on her side of the picnic table, facing her, his hands on her shoulders.

Her body sucked in an involuntary breath, then shook violently as she let it out. It happened again. And then again. She felt wetness on her face. She realized she was crying, sobbing. Terror shot through her, electric and scalding.

She stared at Chuck as her sobs forced themselves on her. The concern in his brown eyes was familiar.

Suddenly a subzero chill shot through her entire body as another memory hit her. Surrounded by ice. In a hospital. Dying. Terrified. Chuck's face floated in front of her. His brown eyes concerned. His admonition to her that she fight. His promise that he'd save her. And he had. Against all odds, he'd saved her.

Sarah collapsed against Chuck. Memories and emotions crashed through her, sucking the energy from every cell in her body. She was tired. So tired. Her body sought refuge in the familiar warm arms that surrounded her.

Another explosion of memory and emotion. The tidal wave loomed over her once again, then broke against her, nothing left to stop it. Touching. Platonic and fleeting. Tentative and hopeful. Intimate and frantic and wonderous. And stolen. Ripped away from her. Torn from her soul.

Too much. It was too much. She wouldn't survive this. It would surely end her. And maybe it should. If she let it. Should she let it? Maybe she didn't have the choice. But it didn't matter anyway.

It took every ounce of will power she had to breathe. All she could do was cry. So, she cried.

Sarah didn't know how long she'd clutched at Chuck, sobbing into his shirt. The emotion began to ebb, slowly, like the tide edging away from a ravaged shore. The memories it had dredged up remained, but the terror and panic began to subside. Sarah slowly pulled back from Chuck. She wiped her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweatshirt and looked up at him. The anguish in his face was palpable - he felt her pain. He always had.

Sarah sat back, forcing her breathing to steady. Chuck dropped his hands into his lap.

"Memories?" he asked.

Sarah nodded.

"Is it always like that?"

"No. This … this was new. I mean, it … hurts … to remember things, important things, and not have any emotion attached to them. But this was different. The …  _experience_  … uncovered memories and feelings  _together._ The feelings brought back more memories, then more feelings."

"Experience?" Chuck asked.

Sarah felt her face flush. She was grateful it was already red. "Touch," she said, barely above a whisper. "When you … touched me."

"Geeze, Sarah," Chuck breathed out. "I'm so sorry. I wish … I wish there was something I could do."

Sarah allowed herself a small smile. She automatically reached toward Chuck, then paused as a pinch of fear ran through her at what might happen if she touched Chuck again. She fought the fear down. She wanted to touch him. To tell him. She let her hand rest on his arm.

"You did do something, Chuck," Sarah said. "Thank you."

"What?" he asked.

"I'm not actually sure," Sarah said. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm exhausted. I'm sorry, but I need to sleep."

"Sarah, I can't just leave you like this," Chuck said, his voice clearly worried.

"I'm okay, Chuck. In fact, I feel … better. I just need some time to rest, and … to think."

Sarah saw dejection flash across Chuck's face. She squeezed his arm.

"We'll talk more. Could we … maybe … have dinner together, tomorrow? After my workout?"

Chuck's face brightened. "Yeah. Yeah … of course."

* * *

Chuck watched as Sarah closed the door to his rental car and walked toward the entrance to her motel. She'd trusted him enough to tell him where she was staying and ask him for a ride back. He smiled to himself. Baby steps. Moving forward. Starting here. Starting now.

It was late afternoon and the sun was dropping toward the western horizon. Lack of decent sleep made him tired. But he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep if he went back to his motel. He needed to think. And he couldn't think feeling hemmed-in with the non-stop sensory overload that was Las Vegas. He queried his rental car's navigation system and started the drive to Hoover Dam at Lake Mead on the Colorado River. He'd never seen the landmark. And more than anything, it should be quiet and picturesque - a good place to let his brain, and his heart, figure out what to do next.

Less than an hour later Chuck climbed out of his Mercedes. He'd parked at a view point overlooking the dam and the lake. Being January, and with the sun almost down, there were only two other cars in the huge lot. He zipped his coat all the way to his collar against the chill breeze knifing down the forty-mile long gorge that was the lake.

Hoover Dam was gargantuan, boggling the imagination, larger than he could conceive — even though he was looking right at it. And yet, compared to the massive volume of water the dam held back, it was small, almost infinitesimal. It was difficult to imagine how something so small, compared to the enormity of what it controlled, could withstand the pressure. At the base of the dam, almost a thousand feet below him, huge columns of water surged out of multiple spillway pipes. They fed water to the electric turbines as well as controlled the level of the lake, keeping the water from rising to a point where the pressure would cause the dam to collapse on itself. He shuddered at the thought of such a disaster. The entire southern tip of Nevada would be decimated if the dam gave way.

At that thought a flash of insight flooded through him. Sarah's subconscious was like the dam. Her memories were like the lake. Memories were flowing back to her consciousness, slowly, much like the dam's spillways released water from the lake into the river below. But the enormity of the memories she could not recall was a constant pressure. And now those memories were returning more quickly, at a pace she was finding hard to handle. Her metaphorical spillways were struggling with the volume. Her explanation had confused Chuck at first, but now it made more sense. It seemed his presence not only triggered memories, but also emotions attached to those memories, which hadn't happened to her before. So, not only had memories returned today, but the emotions attached to them had as well.

The pressure on Sarah had been immense. Enough to make her lose her herself for a few scary moments. If Sarah was going to reclaim her life, she'd not only need to recover her memories, she'd also need to recover the emotions attached to them. But if she couldn't handle that pressure, she'd collapse. Just like the dam would collapse if the water pressure became too great. And just like the dam, if Sarah collapsed the results would be devastating — it would end her.

If Sarah was going to survive, she needed to get out of the cage. And if she left the cage, she'd have to find a way to cope with the return of her memories. She'd have to find a way to integrate her emotions with her memories. She'd have to find a way to do all that without letting the pressure of memories collapse her mind and her spirit. Because if that happened … well, he knew where that type of desperation could take a person.

Chuck played the scene at the picnic table over in his mind. Sarah had scared the shit out of him when she dissociated — disappearing from herself and him. But when he'd brought her back, she seemed okay. She'd even said she felt better. Maybe that was what he could do for Sarah - act as her  _spillway_. Help her cope with the pressure of returning memories and emotions. That would mostly likely be long and arduous process. But that was a non-issue as far as Chuck was concerned. He'd be there for her, always.

* * *

Pulling the drapes closed against that late afternoon sun sent Sarah's motel room into a dingy gray dimness. But the lack of light was like a balm to the headache pounding in her skull.

She walked into the bathroom and tipped a couple of ibuprofen tablets into her palm from the bottle sitting on the counter. She glanced up at the woman in the mirror. It was the same woman she'd seen there yesterday. But she was different, somehow. She wasn't quite as ugly as before. Still, she was definitely damaged. Beaten into exhaustion, not just by the cage. She was fighting, yes. But she was fighting to survive. Fighting to understand. Because, in the end, fighting was all she knew how to do when there was nothing else left. O'Flannery was right. She'd never give up without a fight.

For a moment Sarah was confused at the disconnect with her earlier picture of the same woman in the mirror. Then she realized that in that instant she was looking at the woman through O'Flannery's eyes — through Chuck's eyes. And they saw her as redeemable. They saw her as the victim of something hideous. But they didn't see her as helpless. They didn't see her as destroyed. They saw her as someone loveable, each in their own way.

O'Flannery saw her as someone he admired, someone he believed had the integrity and character to fight the good fight.

Chuck saw her as a woman. He saw her as completely, totally and unconditionally worthy of his love as a man.

Sarah didn't feel that way about herself. But she trusted both of these men. O'Flannery had been kind to her beyond belief, expecting no reciprocation. And Chuck … he'd committed his life — his entire life — to her.

Maybe she didn't feel like the person they thought she was. But she owed it to them both to give their perceptions some credibility. She knew neither would lie to her.

But more than anything, Sarah believed in Chuck. Not just believed what he told her. She believed  _in_  him. The memories she'd endured over the past year had demonstrated time and time again the Chuck Bartowski was a man of overwhelming brilliance, compassion and love. And he'd committed all of himself to her. She still didn't understand it. She probably hadn't understood it completely before she'd had her memories stolen. But she'd obviously embraced it. She'd fallen in love with him. She'd married him. And she'd been … happy.

Still, throughout their relationship, or at least until they'd become engaged, she'd hurt him. Time and again. And he'd still hung in there until she'd been able to cope with her fear of commitment, with her fear that if he knew who she really was he'd be repulsed and leave her. But it had been a long and painful road for Chuck — for both of them.

At that thought, her permanent tenants of guilt and shame pushed themselves into the forefront of her mind.

Sarah saw the woman in the mirror frown as her guilt and shame welled up. Those emotions had defined her throughout her entire life, up to the time she'd fully committed herself to Chuck. They'd defined her over the past two years, as well. But they'd not held sway over her when she'd been with Chuck. She'd been defined by other emotions. Love, joy, excitement, wonder. Together, she and Chuck had brought out the best in each other. Her memories over the past year had made that  _known_  to her, even if she couldn't feel the emotion of it all. But yesterday — and then again, today — in Chuck's presence, the emotions had exploded to life inside her. Like a supernova. Blasting through her. And, like a supernova, those emotions were too much, too hot, so intense that her body and mind had literally checked-out. Thank God Chuck had been there. His presence had grounded her, brought her back.

The thought of Chuck  _grounding_  her,  _protecting_  her through the vulnerability of the collision of her memories and emotions, took root in her. It unfolded like the petals of a rose in the morning, revealing more than met the eye.

Being with Chuck allowed her mind and heart to meld her memories and emotions together. Even though that was frightening, it was also freeing. The memories had felt  _orphaned_  before, complete in their fact, but maddeningly unfulfilled because they created no emotion within her. But the memories she'd experienced in Chuck's presence felt  _complete and fulfilled —_ even if the integration of memory and emotion had been terrifying. But when she'd come out of it, she'd been okay. Even more than okay. As she thought about their conversation yesterday in front of the Bellagio, and this afternoon at lunch, the guilt and shame hadn't been present — as if the memories and emotions had vanquished them, or at least kept them at bay.

The returning memories weren't enough to make her whole. She knew that. They were tearing her down more than building her up. She knew her sanity, as well as her physical health, were running on borrowed time. But when her memories became integrated with her emotions, she'd been better.

Sarah didn't want to destroy herself, even though she knew she eventually would if she kept doing what she was doing. She knew that guilt drove her. Guilt and fear.

O'Flannery had told her to fight. She'd have to fight her guilt and fear if she was going to survive. But what good was survival if all she knew was the pain of unfulfilled memories? If she was going to fight and survive, she needed to bring her mind and her heart — her memories and her feelings — back together. They'd been together before, she'd won that battle before — with Chuck's help. He'd helped her learn to feel. To love. But most importantly, he helped her to allow herself to be loved. Despite how much she'd hurt him, he'd loved her until she could love herself. She'd not asked him to do so. He'd done it because he believed that she was worth loving, above all else.

Sarah didn't know if Chuck was the key to her survival. But, at the present moment, every other option she'd chosen had broken her down, not built her up. If Chuck could help her heal, help her stop killing herself by slow degree, then how could she make herself let him help her? How did she fight against her self-destructive patterns of isolation built on the foundations of guilt and remorse?

Sarah thought back on the two definitive questions she'd asked herself over and over the past two years. How could she repent for destroying his life? How could she atone for tearing apart his soul?

Her answer to both questions had been — she couldn't.

Maybe the fear which had poisoned her mind and heart had kept her from seeing the possibility of different answers to those questions.

Maybe you repented for destroying someone's life by committing to rebuild it.

Maybe you atoned for tearing apart someone's sole by trying to heal it.

Maybe.

* * *

In the early afternoon of the next day O'Flannery let Chuck in through the gym's front door. He smiled at Chuck. "Our lassie arrived just a few minutes ago," O'Flannery said. "How'd it go yesterday?"

"Good. At least, I think it went good," Chuck said. "She suggested we have dinner together, today."

O'Flannery let out a belly laugh. "I'd say it went a skosh better than good, me boy-o."

Chuck took his familiar seat on the small bench in the far corner of the gym. As before, O'Flannery brought Chuck a cup of coffee and sat down with his own cup. They watched the fighters, including Sarah, train and spare. Every now and then Sarah would glance at Chuck and when they're eyes met she smiled. Each time Chuck's heart skipped a beat.

O'Flannery would come and go, sitting for a while, then roaming around the gym to attend to the other VIPs, work on equipment, answer questions, solve problems. Chuck would stand and wander around the perimeter, feigning interest in some of the other fighters as they trained. He had decided he needed to do a better job in maintaining his cover. The routine felt comfortable to Chuck and O'Flannery's presence was calming.

About an hour and half into Sarah's training Chuck watched the small brunette fighter — O'Flannery had told Chuck her cage name was  _Blood Rayne_   _—_ start a shoving match with another fighter over access to a particular weight station. The argument was escalating and it was obvious it would soon come to blows. O'Flannery rushed over and inserted himself between both women, putting his palms against each woman's shoulder to push them apart.

Benny, huge and hulking, emerged from the shadows along the wall. He grabbed the arm O'Flannery was using to hold back Blood Rayne, twisting it behind the older man's back. O'Flannery grimaced in pain. Blood Rayne took the opportunity to land a sucker punch to the other woman's gut, staggering her back.

Chuck was out of his seat and moving toward the scuffle without thinking. He saw movement at the far side of the gym. Sarah had also seen the incident and was moving fast. But Chuck was closer and moving fast as well. He reached the scene and grabbed Benny's hand on O'Flannery's shoulder, twisting the big man's thumb back into a painful joint lock. Benny gasped in pain and released the grip of his other hand on O'Flannery's arm. He glared at Chuck, murder in his eyes. He pulled his free arm back, balling his hand into a fist, ready to pummel Chuck into the ground.

Chuck saw the blow coming. He'd anticipated that Benny might resort to violence. In an instant Chuck flashed, his martial arts skills suffusing his mind and body.

Benny swung. Chuck deftly stepped aside but had to drop Benny's hand to duck the blow. Benny was big, but light on his feet for his size. He used his momentum to spin toward Chuck and snap up a devastating round-house kick. Chuck leaned back and partially blocked the kick with his forearm. Pain shot up his arm as the kick connected. Benny was powerful. But Chuck was fast. As he blocked the kick with one arm, Chuck pistoned his other arm up, shooting an open palm into Benny's chin, snapping the big man's head up. Benny staggered back, stunned and off balance. Chuck dropped down, thrust out a leg and pivoted, sweeping both of Benny's legs, sending him to the floor.

A yell pierced the air and Chuck looked up to see Blood Rayne charging toward him. In his current position he wouldn't be able to rise before she reached him and he'd surely take a few blows before he could mount an effective defense. As Blood Rayne closed in on Chuck, Sarah stepped between him and the raging brunette. Blood Rayne let out a growl of frustration and sent a forward kick toward Sarah's chest. Sarah dodged the kick easily. The brunette had struck out of rage, not thinking, and her forward momentum became her undoing. As Sarah stepped aside, she grabbed Blood Rayne's arm and used the small woman's momentum to jerk her forward as she stuck out a foot. Blood Rayne tripped over Sarah's outstretched leg and landed flat on her face.

Sarah stood her ground, neither attacking nor backing down. Blood Rayne rolled to her side and screamed in frustration. Chuck could see the blind rage in her eyes. She started to rise. This was going to get ugly. Chuck looked back to Benny. He'd have to deal with huge thug while Sarah dealt with Blood Rayne. He tensed as Benny began to rise.

A deafening  _whack_  of wood on concrete resounded throughout the gym. A shout of, "Enough!" echoed off the walls. Chuck turned to see O'Flannery standing a few feet away, a seven-foot bo-staff in his hands. Benny resumed his attempt to rise. O'Flannery brought the end of the staff down on the floor again, the sound of the blow freezing everyone in place, including Benny.

O'Flannery glared around the room, challenging anyone to speak. Then he fixed his gaze on Benny and Blood Rayne.

"You may think I'm just a pugilist. Sure and I do love the sport. But you'll not be wanting to test whether or not I can use  _this_  to good effect," he said as he pushed the bo-staff out in front of him.

No one moved. Silenced reigned.

O'Flannery continued, his voice calmer. He pointed at Blood Rayne and Benny. "You both must be tired. You best be taking the rest of the day off."

Blood Rayne's face flashed scarlet. "But that fucker started it," she said, jabbing a finger at Chuck. "And then the blond bitch-"

"I said, enough!" O'Flannery shouted, slamming the bo-staff down on the floor again.

Blood Rayne stopped talking.

After a few beats of silence O'Flannery resumed his calm demeanor, speaking to Blood Rayne. "Get yourself a shower. Then go home and rest. Tomorrow will be here, soon enough." He turned to Benny, still kneeling on the floor. "Benny, me boy-o, take a seat in the lobby until your — charge — is ready to leave."

Benny hesitated, then gave a frustrated grunt and rose. He gave Chuck another murderous glare and stepped next to Blood Rayne.

O'Flannery turned to Chuck. "Mr. Carmichael, I apologize, but I must ask you to leave for the day. You understand." He gave Chuck a quick wink.

"Sure," Chuck said, rising to his feet and dusting off his jeans.

O'Flannery turned to Sarah. "Lass, a word, please. In my office."

Sarah and Chuck gave each other a look. Then Sarah nodded and followed O'Flannery as he turned and walked away.

Chuck pivoted and made his way to the exit so he would be gone before Benny made it to the lobby. As he left he couldn't help smiling to himself. He and Sarah were still a good team when it came to fighting. They could still do this, even though the most important fight now was of the mind and heart.

Yeah, they could definitely do this.

* * *

O'Flannery lead Sarah to a door at the far corner of the gym. A lighted emergency 'EXIT' sign was mounted to the wall above the door. Definitely not O'Flannery's office. He stepped through into a stairwell. Sarah followed him up five flights of stairs, eventually emerging through a door onto the building's roof.

As usual, the January afternoon was sunny and comfortable — not warm, but not cold, either. O'Flannery strode across the roof to its edge, affording a spectacular view of the low, craggy peaks of the Spring Mountain Range west of the city.

O'Flannery planted the bo-staff on the roof, grasping it with both hands and leaned against it as he gazed toward the mountains.

Sarah stepped up beside him. "I thought you wanted to talk in your office," she asked, letting a little humor come through her voice.

O'Flannery gave her a sidelong glance and a smile. "This is my office. My  _other_ office."

"Nice office," Sarah said.

"Aye, it is. I come here to think. Does a person good to look out at Mother Nature when thinking needs to be done."

Sarah stood quietly, taking in the view, waiting for O'Flannery to continue.

He shook his head and huffed out a laugh. "Our laddie walks like a duck, but he fights like a lion. Sure and I never saw that coming."

Sarah smiled. "Told ya."

O'Flannery snorted. "Sure and you did." He turned to Sarah. "By the way, I hear dinner's in the offing this evening."

Sarah felt a blush rise in her cheeks. She gave him a bashful nod.

O'Flannery turned back toward the mountains, his expression pensive. "So, tell me, Sarah, why's this so hard for you — both of you? There's no doubtin' you two  _still_  have eyes for each other."

Sarah turned her gaze to the mountains as well. O'Flannery stayed quiet. After a while she spoke. "I've hurt Chuck so many times. Especially when I left two years ago." She took in a long breath. "I know he forgives me, but … I don't deserve it. Maybe I never will. I'm afraid I could never do enough to earn his forgiveness."

O'Flannery chuffed. "Is that all?" he said, his voice incredulous. "Sure and I was beginning to get worried about the two of ya."

Sarah was surprised at O'Flannery's nonchalant response. "What do you mean, 'is that all?' Isn't that enough?"

"Las, that's nothing at all."

Sarah felt a little perturbed. "Doesn't feel like 'nothing at all' to me."

"Well, of course it doesn't," O'Flannery said, shifting on his bo-staff to face her. "Because you don't understand."

Sarah saw the twinkle in O'Flannery's eye and knew another life-lesson was on its way. She tried to feel resentful but couldn't. She knew O'Flannery cared about her, and what he called  _insight_  was, truly, wisdom. A wisdom that she appreciated.

Sarah sighed. "What don't I understand."

"That you can't  _earn_  forgiveness."

Sarah quirked her head in question.

"Sure and you can earn another's trust," O'Flannery explained. "You can earn their admiration and confidence. But you can't earn forgiveness. Forgiveness is a gift. You can only receive it."

"But what if I don't deserve it?" she said.

"That's the other part.  _Deserving_  isn't even part of the equation," O'Flannery said.

"Not sure I buy that," Sarah said.

"Ah, Lassie," O'Flannery sighed. "I was young and stupid once upon a time and thought the same thing."

Sarah felt her eyebrows raise. "So, now I'm young and stupid?" she groused, but couldn't keep from smiling.

"My Sarah taught me about forgiveness, she did — God rest her soul. You see, it's like this. Someone important in your life steps up to you and hands you a gift — valuable and precious and heartfelt. The kind of gift that's given with the deepest of love and the most serious commitment."

O'Flannery went silent, staring at Sarah.

"And …," Sarah said, anxious for him to continue.

"And you reject it because you think you don't deserve it," he said, flicking his hand as if flinging something sticky off of his fingers. "What have you just done to that person? A person who's important to you, enough that you want to  _deserve_  something from them. Sure and you've told them that you don't believe them. That you don't trust their judgement. That you know better than they do about their own feelings and decisions. You've told them you don't value the gift they've offered up to you at great personal expense to themselves."

Sarah frowned and turned her gaze back to the mountains.

"And," O'Flannery continued, "you push away the very person you want to  _earn_  forgiveness from. But really, it's not about earning their forgiveness. It's about forgiving yourself. The other person's already forgiven you."

O'Flannery paused, then said, "Sarah, dear, your Chuck's already forgiven you. He doesn't expect you to earn anything. Do you really think you know more about his heart than he does? And are you ready to toss such a precious gift aside, like trash?"

Sarah wrung her hands together at his words.

"You need to learn how to forgive yourself, Lass," O'Flannery said. "And that's a hard thing to do. If it weren't for my Sarah, I'd never have forgiven myself for some of the things I did in my youth, growing up in Northern Ireland."

Sarah heard the pain in O'Flannery's voice and looked at him.

"Let's just say," O'Flannery explained, his eyes dark with emotion" that being a loyalist with an — affiliation — to the IRA was not the brightest spot in my life."

Sarah just nodded. There was nothing she could really say.

"It's not something you can do all at once — self-forgiveness," O'Flannery said. "It takes time. And it takes help. I'm guessing your Chuck is ready to help. If you'll let him."

"But I don't deserve-" Sarah stopped, mid-sentence.

"Ah! Good on ya, Lass. Maybe some of this old dodger's thinking is sinking in." O'Flannery's smile was warm. "Sure and it's a most precious gift, when someone gives us their love and forgiveness. So, you have a choice. You can accept it. Or you can refuse it." He paused for a moment, looking thoughtful, then continued. "There's a saying. I use it when I'm training fighters — trying to break a bad habit or help them improve. 'If you keep doing what you're doing — you'll keep getting what you're getting.' It's time to do something different, Lass."

Sarah let out a long, slow breath. "That scares me."

"Sure, it does."

"I can't just drop everything right now and work on — whatever this is — with Chuck. I need to fight in this tournament. I've only got one more day until I'm sequestered through the final match, or until I'm eliminated. I won't be able to talk with him — be with him."

"I'd hazard a guess that our lad isn't going anywhere. He'll be here when you're finished with this particular journey. Trust me. I'm as certain of this as I am that shamrocks are green."

"But what do I do … right now?" Sarah asked, more of herself than O'Flannery.

"Did our boy-o ask you a particular question yesterday?"

Sarah gave O'Flannery a rueful look. "He did. At your suggestion, none the less."

"Then go back to him and tell him exactly what you need. And if that includes finishing this tournament, then, so be it. Sure and you know what he'll say to ya."

"Yeah," Sarah said, both fear and anticipation filling her chest. "I know."


	4. Chapter 4

Sarah turned her eyes to the mountains in the distance. O'Flannery was silent beside her, his gaze on the mountains as well. She knew exactly what Chuck's response would be if she told him she needed to stay and fight. He'd stay. Until it was over. Until she was ready to finish. Until she was ready to start.

O'Flannery reached into a pocket of his sweat pants and pulled out a dog-eared card. He handed it to Sarah. It was one of his business cards. On the back, scrawled in blue ink, it read,  _'Sarah and Chuck, VIP.'_ It was signed,  _'Ryan'._

"What's this?" Sarah asked.

"Dinner," O'Flannery said.

At Sarah's raised eyebrow, O'Flannery explained. "Go to  _McGills_  on 14th Avenue and give this card to the maitre d'. My brother-in-law owns the place. He'll treat you right."

"Sarah's brother?" she asked.

"Aye."

"Thank you."

"You best be going. I expect  _he's_  waitin' on ya."

Sarah stepped up to O'Flannery and hugged him. "I am so grateful you came into my life, Ryan O'Flannery," she whispered into his ear. Then she kissed his cheek.

As Sarah pulled back O'Flannery's eyes looked wet. He quickly turned away and swiped a hand across his face. "Get on with ya, Lass," he said, his voice rough. "Quit your lolly-gaggin'."

Sarah smiled to herself and stepped toward the stairwell door.

When Sarah stepped onto the street she sent a text to Chuck. They'd exchanged phone numbers last evening and she needed to know where he was parked. She knew O'Flannery was right, that he'd be waiting for her. He responded and she found his Mercedes two blocks up and one block over. She slid into the passenger's seat.

"O'Flannery chew you out?" Chuck asked.

Sarah smiled and showed him the business card. "Actually, he gave us a free dinner. At a place called,  _McGills."_

" _McGills_?" Chuck said, his voice incredulous.

"You know the place?" Sarah asked.

"By reputation," Chuck said. "It's the envy of every five-star night club in the city. Popular with celebrities. Pretty exclusive. Reservation only."

"Well, O'Flannery's brother-in-law owns it. This supposedly gets us in," Sarah explained. "But I need a shower and some sleep. Would you drop me at my motel and pick me up later?"

"Sure," Chuck said. "Seven o'clock okay?"

"Perfect," Sarah said. "Thanks."

As Chuck pulled away from the curb Sarah glanced into her door's review mirror and caught a glimpse of a small person ducking out of sight around the corner of the building behind them.

* * *

A sharp sound woke Sarah. She checked the time on her phone laying on the bedside table. It was half-past six. The noise came again. Knocking on her motel room door. Sarah grabbed the large, threadbare bath towel laying on the bed and wrapped it around herself. She walked to the door and looked through the peephole. It was Chuck. He was early.

Sarah opened the door and caught her breath. Chuck stood before her in his dark Armani suit, tall and handsome. Memories of that suit pushed to the surface of her consciousness. She knew that suit well. Had seen him in it many times. The attraction and desire she'd always experienced when he'd worn it flooded through her. Her body warmed, her chest flushed hot. She knew her pale skin was turning red.

Chuck couldn't have missed the flush from her neck to the top of her towel. He cleared his throat and averted his eyes.

"Sorry I'm early," he said. "I don't mean to be presumptuous, but I brought you something to wear." He held up a garment bag in one hand and a large plastic shopping bag in the other. "McGills is pretty fancy. I took a guess and figured you might not have evening attire packed in your duffle."

Sarah shook her head. She hadn't even considered what she'd wear. She hadn't done anything but fight in dark warehouses, sleep in ratty motels and ride cross-country on old busses for the past year.

"That's smart … and very thoughtful. Thank you." Sarah said, gesturing for Chuck to enter and closed the door behind him.

Sarah watched Chuck struggle to keep his eyes averted. But with only a towel around her she had a generous amount of skin exposed. Pieces of other memories sprinkled into her awareness. The many times Chuck had bashfully averted his eyes from staring at her before they had become lovers. The many times he'd tried - unsuccessfully - to hide his attraction to her. And the excitement she'd felt knowing that he wanted her. Because she'd wanted him, too. But she'd not been able to act on her feelings. That was then. But what about now?

Chuck set the shopping bag on the bed. He unzipped the garment bag and pulled out a dark blue, spaghetti-strapped cocktail dress. Sarah stared at the dress in surprise. It was beautiful. Simple. Tasteful. And expensive.

"You didn't have to do that," Sarah said. "That cost a pretty penny."

"It's your money, too," Chuck said.

Sarah didn't know how to respond to that. So, she didn't.

She took the dress from Chuck and held it up against her. It would be a perfect fit. She had more muscle now, but her overall measurements were almost the same."

"Wow," she said. "Good guess on my size."

Chuck's smile faltered and a moment later Sarah realized why. "Sorry. I suppose you know my size, since we were … are … married."

Chuck's smile brightened a bit.

Sarah laid the dress on the bed and opened the shopping bag. She pulled out a pair of three-inch, black heels that matched the dress perfectly. Digging back into the bag she went still, feeling the heat in her chest flair up again. Inside she found a black, strapless balconette bra and matching thong. She checked the labels. Both would fit perfectly. Chuck had even correctly guessed that her breasts were now a B-cup due to her physical transformation as opposed to a C-cup which she'd had for almost all of her adult life, including when they were … married.

_I'm still married. Married to Chuck._

Before her blush got worse, Sarah took the dress, shoes and lingerie and stepped toward the bathroom. "Just give me a minute," she said.

It didn't take her long to slide into the silky smooth dress. The fit was perfect. A testament to how well Chuck knew her body, even if it had changed in the past year. She quickly applied some eyeliner, blush and lip gloss. Simple, but elegant. She brushed out her short hair and then paused, looking at herself in the mirror.

"Ready for a little  _experimentation_ , Sarah Walker?" she asked herself. She took in a steadying breath. "You've got nothing to lose." She nodded to herself and stepped out of the bathroom.

"Sarah." Chuck breathed out her name in reverence, his eyes wide.

Another hot flush pulsed through her. This was getting ridiculous. She didn't remember ever becoming this easily hot and bothered before. Then she realized, this wasn't about  _before_. This was about now. She liked the way she looked, and she liked the way Chuck looked at her. She could easily see how she'd been attracted to him before. Because he was handsome and because of how he looked at her. In the moment, she was finding it hard to keep from touching him.

But she had to keep her hands off of Chuck for fear of what it might do to her if her memories began to flood back without preparation. Still, Sarah had a plan. She'd talk to Chuck about it over dinner and see where it would go.

"Shall we?" Sarah said and gestured toward the door.

Chuck's smile lit-up the room. "We shall," he said.

* * *

The front of McGills was a conservative combination of decorative stone and opaque glass. Chuck got out of the Mercedes and handed the keys to the valet.

As he stepped around the car to open Sarah's door he noticed a silver Audi luxury sedan drive by at a snail's pace. The windows were tinted so he couldn't see inside. But his training and experience as a spy told him that the proximity and speed of the vehicle meant the driver was surveilling him.

The Audi pulled slowly away as Chuck opened Sarah's door. He offered her his hand. She hesitated for an instant and he realized that she was unsure what would happen if they touched.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry," Chuck said and started to pull his hand back.

"Wait," Sarah said, reaching out her hand.

Chuck took it gingerly and they both waited for a moment. Sarah smiled, seeming none the worse. Chuck helped her from the car. Sarah's touch was like water for a parched soul and he found it excruciating to let go as they walked toward the club's front door. But he did.

The maitre d', a distinguished, older gentleman in a tuxedo, met them with a smile just inside the door. "Good evening. Welcome to McGill's. May I have the name of your reservation," he asked as he tapped on the screen of a small computer tablet.

Sarah handed him O'Flannery's business card. The maitre d' looked at both sides of the card, then looked up at Chuck and Sarah. "Very good," he said with a half-smile. "Please, come with me."

He led them through another door, down a hallway and into a huge restaurant and lounge filled with elegantly dressed people. Chuck guessed there must have been at least two hundred patrons dining at tables, sitting at the enormous bar at one end of the room, or dancing to music spun by a live DJ at the other side of the room. Though the space was full of people, the noise level was pleasant, allowing for normal conversation. A testament to the acoustics of the place and to the intent of the owner to present a vibrant, but classy atmosphere.

The maitre d' lead them up a flight of stairs to a balcony overlooking the main floor of the club, bringing them to a table next to the balcony railing with a view of the action below. He pulled out a chair for Sarah. Chuck sat across the table.

"May I get you something to drink?" the older man asked.

Chuck gave Sarah a questioning look, not knowing if she was drinking alcohol during her training regimen.

"Sparkling water with lime, please," Sarah said.

"The same," Chuck said, when the maitre d' turned to him.

"Very good," the man said. "I'll have your beverages delivered shortly. Also, I'll let Mr. McGill know you're here. He'll want to visit with you." With that, he turned and walked away.

Chuck looked at Sarah who raised an eyebrow.

"A visit from the owner himself," Chuck said. "Color me surprised."

Sarah let out a chuckle.

Chuck watched Sarah as she took in their surroundings, one of her habits - engrained by years as a spy. He'd been in situations with her where she'd done it a thousand times before.

Her gazed stopped and zeroed-in on a table on the main floor below at the far side of the room. "Is that …," she didn't finish the sentence.

Chuck followed her gaze. "Yep," he said, as he recognized the television star Sarah was watching. "In fact, her series was just renewed for another season."

Sarah continued to scan the crowd. She tilted her head in another direction to get Chuck's attention. "And is that …?"

"Uh huh," Chuck acknowledged. "His new movie was just released."

"But, they're down there and we're … up here," Sarah said with disbelief.

"Guess McGill really likes his brother-in-law," Chuck said.

"Aye and that's a fact," came a deep basso voice in an Irish brogue.

They both turned toward the voice. It belonged to a tall man with perfectly styled brown hair and a tightly trimmed goatee dressed in an expensive two-piece suit. He was walking toward them carrying — to Chuck's surprise — a tray with three glasses. The tall man stopped beside the table, gave a short bow while perfectly balancing the tray in one hand. "Terrance McGill," he said. "Welcome. May I join you?"

Chuck nodded.

Sarah said, "Please."

McGill's smile beamed as he sat the three drinks on the table and pulled a chair up from another table nearby.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Sarah," McGill said as he offered has hand and Sarah took it. Chuck watched McGill as he gave Sarah an appreciative, but respectful, look. "You're stunning this evening, my dear." Then he turned to Chuck. "Welcome, Chuck," he said and shook Chuck's hand. "You two must be very precious to Ryan for him to be sending you my way."

Sarah gave Chuck a surprised glance, then said to McGill, "He's a special man. I'm indebted to him. We both are."

"Aye. As am I. Though I'd suspect the old dodger would most likely deny it." McGill shook his head and chuckled. "He's like that, ya' know."

Sarah nodded.

"He called me earlier. I hadn't heard from him in a long time. He told me to expect you both. Told me to make your evening special." McGill turned to Sarah. "I understand this is your last night as a free-bird, Lassie. Tomorrow Taggart will lock you up in a hotel until the fightin's done."

Chuck watched as Sarah's body tensed.

"You know about that?" she said.

McGill chuckled. "It's okay, Las. You can relax. Everyone knows about Taggart's big tournament. It's the buzz of conversation tonight. Probably a quarter of the people here will have money on these fights." He looked Sarah over again. "Ryan said you were good. Even badgered me a wee bit to put some money on ya'. It seems, though, that he forgot to tell me how beautiful you are. Beautiful  _and_  devastating. Quite the combination."

McGill turned to Chuck with a grin. "Chuck, me boy-o, you are one lucky bastard." Before Chuck could respond McGill raised his glass, also a sparkling water, and said, "Here's to a wonderful evening for ya' both and to Sarah's success."

The clinked glasses.

McGill rose. "So nice to meet you both. I'll leave you to your privacy. I've got a club to run, anyway. If you need anything, just ask."

"Thank you," both Sarah and Chuck said in unison.

McGill started to turn away but stopped. His gaze turned inward, thoughtful, as if debating whether or not to say something. After a few beats he lifted his gaze. Chuck saw emotion swirling behind his eyes.

"Whatever it is that you've done for Ryan, I want to thank you for it. He's my best mate. Has been since grade school. He's always been a scrapper - tougher than nails. But when my sister died, he closed up. Went inside himself. I've hardly heard hide nor hair from him in the past seven years." McGill's voice cracked and he cleared his throat. "But you two did something to him. I don't know what, but he seemed like his old self on the phone today. Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you for that."

Chuck looked at Sarah. He could see the emotion on her face, the tightening of her throat. She was trying to speak, but having trouble, so she just nodded at McGill. McGill smiled, nodded back, then turned and walked away.

* * *

Dinner came, the food beyond excellent. They ate, mostly in silence. The small talk they indulged in focused on Sarah's training, observations of other fighters at O'Flannery's, eye rolls and chuckles about Blood Rayne. Safe subjects.

After their plates were taken away, they sat quietly for a while, both looking down at the patrons below and the couples on the dance floor. It was a tenuous silence for Chuck, but he refused to break it. Being with Sarah like this, after so long without her, was a gift he was unwilling to risk by sticking his foot in his mouth.

Eventually Sarah cleared her throat. Chuck turned to see her looking at him. "Yesterday," Sarah began, "something happened."

She paused, looking down at the table, her brow pinched in thought.

"I owe you an explanation. But I'm not sure I know how to go about it," she said.

"Sarah, it's okay. You don't owe me anything," Chuck said.

"Yes, I do. I'm not sure I understand everything that's happened to me - that's  _happening_  to me." Sarah shook her head. "When I left … left you … I didn't know you. I didn't know us. I knew I couldn't be what you wanted … what you needed."

She took in a long, slow breath, then exhaled. "Everything I learned … from my mission logs, reports, other people … painted a picture of how I'd hurt you, over and over again. I didn't want to start that downward spiral again. So, I left."

Chuck's heart squeezed tight at the pain in Sarah's voice. She thought he'd been the one in pain, but he could tell how hard it had been for her over the past two years. He remained quiet but nodded, encouraging her to continue.

"When my memories started to return, it was … hard to cope. But things have gotten worse over the past year. I  _see_  my life from before, but I can't  _feel_  anything. And I know I should. Hell, any breathing human being should. But I can't. And it scares me. It's like I'm losing my mind." She stopped and Chuck saw her shudder as she wrapped her arms around herself.

"That's why you fight," Chuck said softly.

Sarah just nodded, her head tilted down but looking up at him through her lashes.

"I meant what I said yesterday, Sarah. Whatever you need, whatever I can do to help, I will. Even if it means leaving you alone."

Sarah unwrapped her arms from around herself, placing her hands on the table. "I'm not sure leaving me alone is a solution," she said.

Sarah swallowed hard and it was obvious to Chuck she was struggling with what she wanted to say next.

"Chuck, do you trust me?" she finally asked.

"I never stopped," he said.

Sarah lips inched upward in a smile at his response. "And I trust you," she said. "So … I want to try something. An experiment, for lack of a better word."

Chuck gave her a confused half-smile.

"I trust you to … protect me, to keep me safe. Because my  _experiment_  might make me  _disappear_. Like yesterday."

"Ooookaaaay," Chuck said, tentatively.

Sarah chuckled, then said, "I want to try to reconnect a memory with a feeling. Like what happened the past two days when I've been with you. I can't explain the relief I experienced when that happened. But it also scared the hell out of me." She shifted in her seat and leaned forward, her blue eyes intense. "I want to try doing that intentionally. Not having it happen accidentally. Will you help me?"

The spark of hope that had been glowing dimly in the back of Chuck's chest flared for a moment. "Anything you need," he whispered.

Sarah's smile was a mixture of gratitude, relief and anxiety.

"I'm not sure how to go about this," she said, "but when we touched, well … things happened." She ducked her head, shyly, then looked back up at him. "So, could we start out by … you holding my hand?"

Chuck's spark of hope brightened another degree. "Sure," he said.

He placed his left hand on the table, his palm up.

Slowly, Sarah reached across the table and gingerly rested her palm on top of his. She took in a slow breath, then smiled.

Chuck watched as Sarah closed her eyes, her lashes fluttering. A myriad of emotions worked across her face, her smile in a constant state of flux. But always, a smile. After a minute or so, Sarah opened her eyes and gave Chuck's hand a gentle squeeze.

"So … ah … I'm not exactly sure what to say," Chuck said. "Did that … help?"

"Yeah," Sarah said.

"And …?" Chuck asked.

"Lots of little memories. Snippets, actually. Of times when we were together, at a restaurant, like this," Sarah said.

"So, the experiment worked?" Chuck asked.

"Yeah. I was prepared for the emotions. They didn't overwhelm me. Granted, these were pretty basic memories, but still, they meant something because I could  _feel_  them." Sarah looked down at their clasped hands. "I could feel …  _you."_

Chuck knew his smile was wide because his facial muscles ached. He hadn't smiled much in the past two years. He was grateful Sarah didn't pull her hand from his. He reveled in the warmth of it in his palm.

_Baby steps, Chuck. Starting here. Starting now._

A thought crossed Chuck's mind. He looked up and caught Sarah's eyes. "Do you want to try again, but this time, maybe something a little more … intense."

Sarah tilted her head. "How so?"

"Would you dance with me?"

Sarah's breath caught. Her expression darkened. She was obviously afraid. He'd gone too far.

"Sorry," Chuck said quickly. "Too much." He started to pull his hand away.

Sarah's fingers tightened around Chuck's hand, refusing to release him. Their eyes were still locked.

"I don't know how I'll react," Sarah said. "What happens if I lose it … like yesterday at lunch."

"I'll catch you if you fall," Chuck said. "Always."

A flicker of emotion made Sarah's smile falter for an instant, as if she understood the deeper meaning of Chuck's answer. "Okay," she said. "Fate favors the foolish."

Chuck had to laugh at that.

They stood and walked down the stairs from the balcony to the dance floor, holding hands the entire way.

The DJ was spinning classic music from the crooners of the 50's and 60's — Sinatra, Crosbie, Martin, Davis Jr., Mathis, Anka, Bennett. All songs for dancing cheek to cheek, embraced and enamored with each other.

Chuck found a place on the floor and offered Sarah his other hand. She took it and they started moving slowly to the beat, an arm's width apart. Sarah closed her eyes as they swayed to the rhythm. Her face mimicked the emotional cornucopia she'd displayed at the table. As they drifted across the dance floor Chuck realized that Sarah was gradually moving closer to him. Her eyes were still closed, but her body orbited his, the slow attraction like gravity, drawing them together.

As Chuck watched Sarah's face he saw when the tears started to leak from the corners of her closed eyes, tracking down her cheeks. Her smile grew. She sighed and pulled herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck and resting her cheek on his shoulder. He felt her tears on his neck as he wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close.

And finally, Chuck couldn't hold back his own tears. So, he let them fall.

They stayed like that for a long time. Slowly swaying in each other's embrace. And they danced.

Chuck let himself drift in and out of awareness, his arms wrapped around Sarah, gliding along the dance floor. He savored each of her breaths on his cheek, each inch of her body pressed against his. Time seemed to disappear, and he hoped it never resurfaced.

But eventually the tempo of the music picked up and they both pulled back to look at each other. For just an instant the love he felt for his wife — the love that he'd kept bridled and tamed for the past two years for fear it would overwhelm him — welled up from deep inside the dark places where he cloistered it. He stared at Sarah's lips, wanting to touch them with his. Wanting to taste her. Wanting to quench his parched thirst from the past two years. And although his heart ached to kiss her, his mind advised him to wait.

_Baby steps. This is enough. Right here, right now._

Chuck looked into Sarah's eyes, their blue darker and more intense than he remembered. She must have known what he'd thought just then. She knew, and she hadn't pulled away.

They climbed the stairs and returned to their table.

"You okay?" Chuck asked.

"More than okay," Sarah said.

"That was … nice," Chuck said. "It seemed like you …," he let the sentence trail off, not sure how to finish it.

Sarah sniffled. "I want to tell you about it. But I must be a mess," she said, wiping her cheek and grabbing her small clutch. "I'm going to the ladies' room. I'll just be a minute."

"Sure," Chuck said. "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."

Sarah gave Chuck's hand a squeeze and walked away.

* * *

Sarah looked at the woman in the mirror. Her makeup streaked down her face. But she wasn't ugly today. She wasn't empty today. She was beautiful. She was full. Full of memories. Full of emotions. So different. She shook her head and chuckled at herself. So much had changed in just a few days.

She grabbed a thick, soft hand towel from the stack on the vanity and dabbed at the offending makeup. After a few minutes the streaks were gone. But her eyes were still red and puffy, her expression still rattled from her experience.

Out of her peripheral vision she saw a woman step up to another sink in front of the counter's long mirror.

"Are you all right, girl?" the woman asked.

Sarah just nodded and continued to wipe away the ruined makeup.

"You sure, sweetie? You know it's not hard to tell when a girl's been crying," the woman said.

Sarah let the smile that had been threatening her lips come through, turning her head to look at the woman in the mirror. She was beautiful, slender, elegant, with Asian features and golden skin.

"OH!" the woman said, giving Sarah a knowing smile. "Not sad tears. Happy tears."

"Uh huh," Sarah said and continued to dab at her face with the towel.

"Special guy or gal?" the woman asked.

"Guy," Sarah said.

"Well, a new beau is a wonderful thing."

"Not new," Sarah said, before she could sensor herself. She wasn't saying a lot, but for her, opening up this much to a stranger was unusual. The energy pulsing inside her was exciting and hard to bottle up.

"Really!" the woman said. "Oh my! Rekindling an old flame, are we?"

Sarah felt the heat in her face and saw the blush on her cheeks in the mirror. She just nodded.

"We'll, there's no mistaking a girl in love, sweetie. Good luck." The woman said, giving Sarah a smile as she dried her hands with a towel and left the lounge.

_Love? Is that what I'm feeling?_

When she'd taken Chuck's hands on the dance floor she'd been flooded with memories — and feelings. She wasn't sure love was one of them. But she wasn't sure it wasn't, either.

She'd closed her eyes as the memories had started to drift into her consciousness. She knew Chuck was there. She knew he'd protect her, keep her safe. So, she'd just let go and allowed the music and motion to take her deeper.

There was no tidal wave of visions and feelings like she'd experienced earlier. Instead a steady flow of scenes from her past with Chuck had played across her mind like a movie.

First, she and Chuck had been dancing, as they had many times, on a mission. The unrequited love she'd felt then — the desire to have him, coupled with the pain of her self-denial — had clenched her stomach.

But then, a microsecond later, another memory surged forward. They'd been dancing together after Paris, after they'd declared their love to each other and made the decision to be together. That memory had banished the pain in her stomach, replacing it with a warm desire that had moved deeper into her as they swayed to Sinatra's  _Witchcraft._  She remembered that she'd finally been able to act on her attraction to Chuck. She'd felt her lips turn into a smile at that.

Then she'd had a vision of them dancing at their wedding reception, the emotion that had swamped her then had almost tipped her over the edge. But she'd pulled herself into Chuck, wrapped her arms around him and felt him bring his arms around her. The completeness she'd felt as he'd adored her with his eyes and his hands and his body on the wedding reception dance floor had come back to her in that moment. The emptiness she'd known all her adult life had been banished. Her life had become full. Full of family and friends. Full of Chuck. Full of … love. She'd felt that love as she'd pushed her face into Chuck's neck, letting her tears fall freely.

He'd loved her then. He'd always loved her.

And he'd forgiven her then. He'd always forgiven her. He always would.

_Maybe I need to stop doing things he has to forgive me for — things_ I _need to forgive me for._

At that thought she smiled at herself in the mirror. She wanted — needed — to get back to Chuck. To tell him what she'd experienced. To tell him that his suggestion had worked. To tell him she wanted to dance.

Sarah pulled some basic make-up supplies out of her clutch and went to work repairing the damage from her tears.

Happy tears.

It had been a long time since she'd felt happy.

* * *

Sitting at the table Chuck was lost in thought. The hope in his chest had moved from a spark into a small flame. Sarah seemed open to him. Open to being with him in the here and how. She seemed happy. He was dying to know what was going on inside her head. He was hoping that her memories and feelings were beginning to overcome her guilt and fear. He just needed to hang in there with her. To stick with it. Persevere. He was good at that. He always had been.

"Well … hello, Charles. It's such a pleasure to see you."

The voice was smooth, lush and feminine, and jerked him from his thoughts. Chuck looked up to find Alicia Taggart standing next to his table smiling down at him.

Startled, Chuck stood up quickly, smoothed down his suit coat and turned toward Taggart. Mountain Man stood a few paces behind Taggart, dressed in his black ensemble, obviously serving as Taggart's bodyguard.

_Charles. Right! I need to be Carmichael._

Chuck worked to calm his features and hide his surprise. He wasn't sure he'd been successful. But he brought Charles Carmichael back to the party.

"Good evening, Alicia," he said. "What a surprise." He reached out and took her proffered hand. "But I believe the pleasure is mine."

Taggart gave Mountain Man a look over her shoulder and he moved away, taking a position against the wall.

She turned back to Chuck. "I hope my arrangements for you to view your favored fighters is meeting your needs."

"Yes. You've been very gracious. Thank you," Chuck replied.

Taggart's predatory smile had returned. She looked up at Chuck through long lashes. She inched closer to him, pulling their joined hands into her.

"I'm so glad I ran into you like this. Waiting for you to join me next Tuesday was becoming an arduous exercise in self-denial." Taggart clutched Chuck's hand tighter to her and pushed her hip into his.

Chuck struggled to relax and remain calm. Taggart was here. And Sarah would be back at any moment.

He'd believed Sarah when she'd told him she wasn't violating any of Taggart's rules by fraternizing with him while she wasn't training or sequestered. And it was unlikely that Taggart would recognize Sarah as one of the competitors in her tournament. But it probably wouldn't be a good thing if Taggart saw him and Sarah together in an intimate venue like McGill's. Especially the way Sarah was dressed.

"I've been anticipating our time together on Tuesday, as well," Chuck said, smiling at Taggart as she pressed her body more tightly into him. Another lie based on truth. He had been thinking about Tuesday — about how he was going to get out of being with Taggart during the championship fight.

Chuck's mind spun like a whirlwind. He definitely didn't want Sarah to see Taggart hanging all over him. Taggart was gorgeous, sensual and seductive. Chuck had absolutely no interest in her, even though he had to feign so. But he and Sarah had been apart for two years and he didn't want there to be any mixed messages. He didn't want anything to sabotage the tenuous progress he and Sarah had made over the past two days. He needed to get rid of Taggart. He just wasn't sure how to do that without compromising his Carmichael identity.

Taggart squeezed Chuck's hand tightly. "Now that we're here - together, perhaps we don't have to wait that long. Do you mind if I join you?" Taggart asked, her voice liquid and cool.

"Yes, he minds," came Sarah's voice, intense and quiet.

Chuck looked up to see Sarah stepping toward them. But instead of flustered and hurried as he might expect with her coming upon this scene, she was moving slowly, confidently placing one foot in front of the other, her tight dress accentuating every curve as she moved. With each step, she made sure her long legs were on display as she swayed hips slightly from side to side. Her blue eyes burned hot and her lips were pressed together in a fierce smile. Chuck swallowed hard. He knew  _this_  Sarah. He'd seen her before. She was in full-out femme fatale battle mode, ready to take on this female interloper who'd just invaded her territory.

* * *

As Sarah approached her table she saw the woman from the lounge. She saw that woman throwing herself at Chuck. And she saw  _red._

_What the hell's your game, you back-stabbing bitch?_

She dropped her clutch on the table and prepared to do whatever was necessary to make it clear that Chuck was hers. Whether that came to words or blows, it didn't matter to Sarah. She'd seen the big man standing off to the side, obviously a body guard. All she needed to do was kick off her heels and she could take him. For a moment she thought he looked a lot like Bennie. That fleeting recognition passed and her focus returned to the woman in front of her — the woman whose hands were all over her husband _._

_My ... husband_.

That she had automatically thought of Chuck as her  _husband_  surprised Sarah. Then she was surprised even more when she realized her anger was fueled by jealously. She was jealous that the woman was making a play for her —  _husband_. As unnerving as that realization was, she didn't have time to dwell on it and all of its implications. Sarah needed to get rid of the clingy bitch because she had unfinished business with Chuck.

One thing had become crystal clear for Sarah as she'd examined her reflection in the lounge's mirror. She'd realized that she wanted a chance for a life that was better than the nightmare she'd imprisoned herself in during the past two years. Just like she wanted a chance to fight and win in this tournament, she wanted a chance to fight for a better life. Since Chuck had arrived and his presence had made her memories and emotions play nice together, she felt a glimmer of hope that she might actually have a chance. And she thought she just might be ready to take that chance.

One of the fears that had manacled Sarah to her self-destructive existence of the past year had been obliterated by Chuck. She didn't have to live up to who she used to be. Chuck had smashed that barrier to bits. He was willing to start from here and now, even if that meant such a start might actually be an end for him — that he left her alone to live her life without him. But she was becoming more certain that if she was going to have any chance of digging herself out of her hellhole, she would need Chuck's help. Because she couldn't see any other way she'd be strong enough to do what needed to be done. He'd said he'd help her. He'd said he'd do whatever she needed. She knew enough about the man to know he kept his promises.

What had struck her on the dance floor, as memories and emotions had flooded back into her, was that she didn't want to try making this change by herself. More to the point, she didn't want to start that journey without Chuck by her side. She didn't know if that was love rekindled, or love anew, or even if that was love at all. But the emotions she'd felt had reminded her of one undeniable fact - that Chuck had loved her with all of his heart, and he still did. She wasn't ready to walk away from something like. O'Flannery had called it a gift. It was certainly that, and so much more.

Sarah turned to face the woman who was still pressing herself into Chuck. She glanced at Chuck, softening her eyes for an instant, letting him know that this was not on him and that she'd get him out of it ASAP. She saw the relief wash through him as he realized her expression held no malice toward him. Then Sarah let her eyes turn ice cold again and turned her gaze back to the woman.

"So much for your little act of sisterly support in the lounge," Sarah said.

The woman tilted her had back, letting out a tittering laugh. "Oh, my dear, all's fair in love and war. Don't you think?"

"So, it's a war you want?" Sarah ground out, shifting her weight evenly over her feet.

Sarah caught movement out of the corner of her eye as the bodyguard pushed himself off the wall and took a step toward them. She knew she was on the verge of violence. Even if she only grabbed the woman and pulled her away, her body guard would get involved and things would get real messy, real fast.

"Ladies, I think introductions are in order," Chuck said, hurriedly, cutting through the tension.

Sarah blinked, then looked at Chuck.

"Alicia, this is Sarah," Chuck said. Then he pinned an intense gaze on Sarah. "Sarah, this is Alicia. Alicia …  _Taggart."_ He raised his eyebrows several times in emphasis of Alicia's last name.

It took a second, then Sarah felt her eyes widen in recognition. Taggart. This was  _the_  Taggart. Fight promoter, Taggart. Taggart was a woman, not a man like most people thought. Sarah took in a steady breath but didn't relax her stance.

"Sarah," Taggart said, thoughtfully. "Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. Such a pretty name. I like it so much better than that other horrid name you prefer to use. Tell me, Sarah, why do you insist on using that disgusting moniker?"

Sarah's mind clicked. Taggart knew Sarah was one of the fighters in her tournament. And after Sarah's unguarded self-disclosure in the woman's lounge, Taggart knew she and Chuck were — something _._

_She said she could tell I was in love. Am I in love with Chuck? Did I ever stop loving Chuck?_

Sarah took a moment to collect her thoughts. Whatever game Taggart was playing, Sarah would have to worry about it later. Right now, she had business to attend to. One way or another, the woman's hands would be off of Chuck within the next sixty seconds. She decided to switch tactics.

"It's a long story," Sarah said. She shifted her weight to one hip which strategically raised the hem of her short skirt exposing more of her long, lean leg. A warning shot across Taggart's bow, letting her know that if feminine wiles were the weapon of choice, Taggart had met her match.

"Do tell," Taggart sing-songed, still clinging to Chuck.

Sarah tilted her head down, looking up through her lashes with a sultry smile. "Let's just say, it's a constant reminder of the most important, and the most dangerous, thing in the world," Sarah said.

"And what would that be …?" Taggart twittered.

"You're a smart girl," Sarah said, her tone condescending. "You figure it out."

Taggart's smirk morphed into a frown.

Sarah cast a look to the body guard standing off to the side. Then she stepped slowly toward Chuck, reaching out with both hands to grasp the arm Taggart wasn't hugging to herself. She gently, but firmly, pulled him toward her until Taggart had to let go or look foolish trying to cling to him.

"If you'll excuse us," Sarah said, "Charles and I have some catching-up to do. You understand — girl to girl."

Taggart struggled for a moment to wipe the scowl off her face. She'd just been bested by Sarah and it was obvious she didn't like it. Sarah bet that Taggart seldom, if ever, lost when it came to competing for a man. But Sarah had shut her down with a one-two punch.

Schooling her expression Taggart forced a tight smile. "Enjoy your evening," she said to Chuck. She turned to Sarah. "Good luck, my dear. I'll be watching your fights with great interest." Then she gestured for her bodyguard to follow her as she walked away.

Sarah stood watching Taggart depart. She didn't let go of Chuck's arm. Instead she clutched it tighter. When Taggart finally disappeared down the stairs Sarah let out a breath.

She looked up at Chuck. "So, that's the infamous Taggart?"

Uh huh," Chuck acknowledged.

"And how do you know her?" Sarah said, narrowing her eyes at Chuck.

Chuck blanched. "Oh. Geeze, Sarah," he said. "It's not like … we never … I have no interest in her. None. Nada."

"Good," Sarah said, "because I'm pretty sure I'd rip her face off if you did."

Chuck's expression morphed from concerned, to confused, and finally to a half-smile.

"So," Sarah continued, "how did you two meet?"

"I … uh … met with her to get in on the action."

When Sarah raised her brow, he explained.

"You need to buy into the tournament in order to place a bet. I wanted to meet with Taggart because I wanted special consideration to be able to check out the fighters before the tournament started." Chuck blew out a breath. "It turned out that he was a she. And she … sort of … took a liking to me."

"Ah," Sarah said. She considered Chuck for a moment. She remembered his Charles Carmichael persona and how irresistible he was in that role, even if he didn't see it himself. Handsome, suave, smart and rich — of course Taggart would have been attracted to him. "So that's how you found me?"

Chuck nodded.

"What did you have to do to get the VIP treatment?"

Chuck squirmed a little, then swallowed and said, "I promised a minimum wager of two hundred and fifty thousand and left the cash with her as a deposit."

Sarah blinked. Opened her mouth. Closed it. Then blinked again. Finally she said, "You dropped a quarter million dollars into this thing?"

"Uh huh," Chuck grunted.

"Just so you could find me?"

"Yeah."

Sarah tilted her head down and shook it back and forth in disbelief. Chuck had really gone all-in on this. The warmth in her chest sparked again as she fought unsuccessfully to hide a smile.

"Who are you going to bet on?" she asked, looking back up at him.

Chuck tilted his head and looked thoughtful. "Well, there's this one fighter with a cage name that everyone finds disgusting and I was thinking about putting some money on her."

"Really?" Sarah said, raising an eyebrow. "Is she any good?"

"Yeah. And she's also really hot. Like … hot, times ten."

"So, the hotness factor is part of your wagering strategy?"

"Yeah. One part. There are other parts." Chuck said.

"Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe five years of watching her take names and kick butt."

Sarah rolled her eyes. Then her expression became serious. She let go of Chuck's arm and grasped both of his hands, turning him to face her.

"That's a lot of money, Chuck."

"Yes, it is a lot of money. But then again, no, it's not. Because I'd pay anything … I'd do anything … to help you. To make sure you're okay. So, really, it was a no-brainer."

Sarah eyes narrowed. "I guess I'm really gonna have to step up my game so you don't lose your ass."

"Don't worry about the money," Chuck said. "I can bet on spreads and combinations where it's almost a statistical impossibility that I wouldn't break even. I wouldn't make any money, but I wouldn't lose anything either. This quarter million was all about getting access. That's all."

The relief Sarah felt must have been obvious on her face. Chuck stepped closer and put his hands on her shoulders. "Geeze, I'm sorry. Did that freak you out?"

Sarah chuckled and looked up at him. "Uh … yeah … kinda. But I'm good now."

Sarah didn't feel the need to move. She liked Chuck's hands on her. She felt safe with his hands on her. Not physically safe. She wasn't worried about protecting herself. It was about feeling safe to be herself, to talk about difficult things. She'd known from her memories that Chuck was a safe person for her. After all, he'd helped her find her way out of the spy life. Helped her learn how to love herself, and consequently, love him. But to be in his presence, to experience Chuck being  _Chuck_ , was unraveling the mystery of how her feelings had grown for him.

She'd never felt safe around anyone in her entire life. And in just a couple of days her heart had convinced her head to trust Chuck, enough to where she was willing to risk experimenting with her memories. But it wasn't a couple of days, really. He wasn't someone she'd just met. She might not have recovered all of her memories of Chuck, but her emotions were still intact, buried in her subconscious. She'd known him and trusted him. Enough to commit her life to him. To marry him. It made sense that those feelings of trust and safety would surface so quickly in his presence.

As Sarah processed this new revelation, she realized she was still in the here and now. His touch hadn't brought any memories flooding back. It was just his large hands resting gently on her shoulders. His warm, brown eyes adoring her. They could touch each other and just … be.

They stood by their table like that for a while, quiet, as they looked at each other. Eventually Sarah said, "I'd like to tell you about what happened to me when we were dancing."

Chuck smiled. "I was hoping you would." He pulled her chair out so they could sit and talk.

* * *

Chuck watched Sarah blush as she finished recounting the memories that had overwhelmed her on the dance floor. When she'd told him about her recollection of their wedding, they'd both had tears welling in their eyes.

"Even though this was tough, you seem okay," Chuck said.

Sarah nodded. "Yeah. It's hard to explain how relieved I feel."

"If me being around can help you get better, I'm willing to … you know … keep helping. No strings attached. No expectations," Chuck said.

"I know I can't keep doing what I've been doing," Sarah said. "I'm living on borrowed time."

Chuck's heart ached. He wanted more than anything to take her pain away, to let it flow through him and away from them both. But he needed to let Sarah decide what she wanted to do, let her be in control. He didn't want to scare her off with his need for her to be okay. What she needed was what mattered most.

"Any thoughts about what to do next?" Chuck asked.

Sarah's face grew serious. "I need … I  _want_  to do something different. I want to keep trying. But before I do anything, I have to finish this competition. I have to fight in this tournament. Then … maybe … I don't know. Something?"

Chuck was surprised at the question in her eyes. She was asking him, without saying the words, if he would stick with her through this final chapter of her journey in the cage. The little flicker of hope inside him flashed again.

"Yeah," he smiled at her. "Something. Something is good. Whatever type of  _something_  you need, I'm on-board."

Chuck saw one corner of Sarah's mouth start to turn up into a smile. But then her face darkened and she looked away.

"Sarah, what is it?" Chuck asked as he reached across the table and took her hand before he realized his touch might set off a deluge of memories. She turned back to him, seemingly unaffected.

She studied his hand around her's, then looked up into his eyes. "I'm … scared."

Chuck's chest tightened. "Scared of what?"

Sarah paused for a beat. "Scared I'll drag you into my insanity and … hurt you. Again. Like I've always done."

Chuck let out a relieved breath. This was territory he knew. This was stuff he could deal with. He squeezed her hand and gave her a soft smile. "Let me remind you of two things, Sarah Bartowski," he said quietly, emphasizing her last name.

Sarah gave him a puzzled look.

"First," Chuck said, "we both did plenty of things that hurt each other during our first three years together. The hurting was definitely  _not_  one-sided. And second, we  _both_  forgave  _each other_  when we decided to get married."

Sarah looked away and Chuck saw her swallow hard. "But, I left you. Two years ago … I just … ran away. Abandoned you."

A tear ran down her cheek. Chuck reach up, cupped her chin and gently turned her head so their eyes met.

"And I abandoned you," Chuck whispered, his heart heavy with guilt. "When you needed me most, I failed you. I was too afraid to go after you. To help you. Too afraid to face the possibility that I'd lost you forever. So, it was easier for me to  _run away_  by not running after you. I was more concerned about me than you."

Chuck's throat was so tight it hurt. He felt his hand trembling as it gripped at Sarah's. "I was a coward and I'm sorry. Sarah, can you ever forgive me?"

* * *

Sarah stared at Chuck, stunned. He'd done it again. Completely turned a conversation ass-over-teakettle. She was the one who was supposed to be sorry, asking for his forgiveness, even though he'd already offered it to her. And yet, here he was, asking for hers. Sarah couldn't fault him any more than she could fault herself.

Then a realization dawned on Sarah. Chuck had suffered from his fear and inaction, maybe as much as she had suffered from her fear and reaction.

Chuck didn't blame her for  _his_  pain. He put the responsibility squarely on himself. And as far as  _her_  pain was concerned, he felt responsible for it as well. He believed it was his fault. Which was exactly how she felt about him. Talk about the shoe being on the other foot.

The pain in Chuck's eyes cut across Sarah's heart like a razor. She didn't want him to hurt. She didn't want him to blame himself. It wasn't his fault. It was Quinn's fault.

For a moment Sarah was lost. Not sure what to do. She'd been focused for so long on her guilt and shame that she'd never even considered Chuck might feel the same as she, because he blamed himself.

Then O'Flannery's words came to her. About forgiveness. That it was a gift, freely given. That it was an act of love.

Chuck was asking for her forgiveness. She wasn't convinced he needed it. But he thought he did. She could help him begin to heal from that pain and guilt. This was her path to atonement. She could give him the forgiveness he needed. She would gladly give him that gift — an act of love.

_Love. I_ do _love him. I_ still  _love him._

Sarah tightened her hand around Chuck's. "I don't blame you for anything," Sarah said. "None of this is on you."

Chuck started to speak but Sarah leaned across the table and put a finger to his lips.

"I forgive you, Chuck Bartowski" Sarah said as she pulled her finger away. "Not because you need it — you don't. Not because you've earned it, because you don't need redemption. I don't have much left that I can give, but I can give you that. I can give you forgiveness." Sarah looked down at their joined hands. "I just hope that someday you'll be able to forgive me."

"Hey," Chuck said, ducking his head down to catch Sarah's eyes. She looked up at him. "Sarah, I-" Chuck choked to a stop and held his breath for a moment. "I will always forgive you, no matter what," he finished.

He had started to say something but thought better of it. Was he going to tell her that he  _loved_  her? That would be so like Chuck. But he'd caught himself. Held it back. She wished he hadn't.

"Besides," he said, "that was in the pre-nup I made for us."

"What?" Sarah said.

"It was in the fine print."

Sarah gave Chuck a dubious look. "What fine print."

"On the back. Didn't you read it?"

"Chuuuuck."

Chuck smiled. "It said, and I quote 'Chuck will always forgive Sarah and Sarah will always forgive Chuck, because they're both human and do stupid stuff'."

Sarah laughed. "Like hell it did."

* * *

Chuck parked the Mercedes in front of Sarah's motel and shut down the engine. He checked his rear-view mirror for the umpteenth time, scanning for the Audi that had ghosted past him in front of McGill's. It wasn't there.

He turned to Sarah and found her studying him. "What is it?" she asked.

"Maybe something. Maybe nothing," he said.

"The silver Audi?" she asked.

Chuck gave her a surprised look.

"I saw it at the restaurant, too," Sarah said.

Chuck nodded. Of course she had. She'd been the consummate spy. The best of the best.

"We weren't followed," he said with a grin. "You taught me well."

Sarah chewed on her lip. "There were two other times I think we were being watched. Maybe followed."

Chuck raised an eyebrow.

"I caught a glimpse of someone. Not enough to see who it was. But I'm guessing it was my new arch nemesis," Sarah said with a scowl.

"Blood Rayne?" Chuck asked.

Sarah nodded.

Chuck pondered that information for minute, then looked back at Sarah. "Taggart knew we were at McGill's. That wasn't a coincidence."

"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing," Sarah said. "She knew who I was. And based on her little act in the lady's lounge, she knew we were together. And she didn't like it."

"I agree," Chuck said. "But why would she care?"

Sarah gave him a flat look. "She wants you."

"Maybe. But why?"

Sarah gave Chuck an incredulous look. "What do you mean, why?" She made a sweeping gesture with one hand, indicating his whole body. "Are you kidding? What's not to want?"

Chuck ducked his head.

"I can tell you this," Sarah growled, "if she pulls that shit again she won't walk away on her own power."

Chuck felt a little flash of warmth at Sarah's obvious jealousy but was still unconvinced. "Nah, I don't think it's that. Taggart's too smart to get sidetracked by … that type of stuff. She thinks things through. Every move is calculated. She had us followed. She knew we were seeing each other. She wanted to check us out, to find out what was going on."

"Well, she sure as hell knows what's going on now," Sarah said, letting out a huff.

"Still, I wonder why she was so interested."

"I still think she has ulterior motives — that aren't all that ulterior. I mean, she was practically drooling on you."

Chuck let out a snort. "I forgot to thank you for saving me."

"I wasn't about to let that bitch muscle in on my-" Sarah abruptly dropped the sentence.

Chuck caught Sarah's embarrassed expression. He decided to throw her a bone and shift gears. He hopped out the Mercedes and walked slowly around to her side, giving her a little time to compose herself. He opened her door and she climbed out. As she stood they were so close the heat from her body washed over him. The need to touch her again was almost painful. But he kept his hands to himself.

"Thank you," Sarah said. "Tonight was … important. We have more to talk about. And I promise, I want to talk with you. I won't run away." She averted her eyes. "But I've got to see this tournament through to the end, or at least, until I'm eliminated." She brought her eyes back to his. "Thank you for understanding — for sticking by me."

Fear and hope and sorrow and desire all pulsed through Chuck. It was a heady mix of emotions — almost overwhelming. But he pushed them down to be present for Sarah in that moment. "Sure," he said. "Always."

Sarah smiled at that.

"I need a favor," Sarah said.

"Anything. Just ask."

"Could you pick me up here tomorrow, around noon? I have to check out of the motel and take all my stuff to O'Flannery's. I plan a light workout, since it's the last day before the first fight. Tomorrow afternoon I need to check into the hotel where Taggart will lock us all up. So, could you also drop me and my stuff off after my workout?"

"Yeah. Of course."

Sarah leaned into him, her chest pushing into his, and stretched up to kiss him on the cheek. Her lips lingered for a moment longer than necessary. Chuck's legs felt rubbery. He struggled to keep his knees locked.

Sarah pulled back, her smile demure. "Thank you," she said. "See you tomorrow." She reached out and gave his hand a squeeze, then turned and walked toward the motel's entrance.

Chuck watched Sarah's hips sway side to side. Her long, lean body floated across the ground, then disappeared inside the motel. Her beauty still took his breath away. He fought down the pressure of his desire for her. She'd always had this effect on him. Even after being separated for two years, that hadn't changed.

Chuck climbed back into the Mercedes and sat for a while, trying to calm is racing heart and gather his wits.

She'd kissed him. Not an experimental kiss to see how her memories and emotions might be affected. A real kiss, of affection, of appreciation. Granted, it was a kiss on the cheek. But it had still knocked his socks off. Progress. They were making progress.

_Baby steps._

He started the car and headed to his motel. He wasn't sure he'd be able to sleep. But that was okay. He could spend the night thinking about his evening with Sarah. Sleep was overrated, anyway.

* * *

Sarah closed the motel room door and leaned her back against it. Her heart thumped in her chest. Her lips still tingled from kissing Chuck on the cheek. It had taken a force of will to keep from moving her lips to his mouth, to keep from wrapping her arms around him like she had on the dance floor and urging him to kiss her back.

Now that Chuck was gone and she was back in her dreary room, she cursed her decision. Maybe she should have kissed him. Maybe she  _could_  kiss him. Soon. A real kiss. That thought warmed places deep in her that hadn't felt warm in a long time.

Kicking off her heels, Sarah walked into the bathroom and regarded herself in the mirror. A different woman than the two who had visited her previously, looked back at her. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt as happy and safe and … hopeful … as she'd felt tonight with Chuck. And her  _experiment_  seemed to have worked — a whole lot better than she'd expected.

"You've got a chance," she said to her reflection, "and he gave you a gift. So, Sarah … Bartowski … what are you going to do with them?"

She smiled then. She knew the answer. She just had to wait - to hold out a little longer. Four more days and this would all be finished. Then she could start, again.

* * *

Chuck sat on the bench set back in the corner of O'Flannery's gym. He'd come to have a curious affection for the old piece of wood and vinyl. He wondered if O'Flannery would let him take it with him when he left. When he and Sarah left. Hopefully, together.

Sarah was moving quickly around the gym, from station to station, focusing on exercises for speed and flexibility. He glanced at his watch. He'd been watching her and the other fighters for a little over two hours. Sarah was almost finished, after which he'd take her to the Glass House, a five-star hotel that Taggart had reserved for the tournament's 128 fighters. There, she'd share a room with three other fighters. Once Sarah entered the hotel, Chuck wouldn't be able to have any contact with her until she was eliminated. Or, until she won the whole shebang.

Sarah finished a quick session of shadow boxing in front of a mirror, wiped her brow with a towel and took a swig from her water bottle. She threw her towel over her shoulder and turned to look at Chuck, catching his eyes and smiling at him. His stomach flip-flopped.

She started walking toward him when Blood Rayne approached her from the side, Bennie lumbering along in the background.

"Hey, blondie," Blood Rayne said as she closed the distance on Sarah.

Sarah stopped and turned to face the brunette. Chuck noticed that Bennie stopped abruptly, watching Sarah closely, his expression wary.

"How about a little sparing? You know, loosen things up. Get the juices flowing," Blood Rayne said, not trying to hide her sneer.

Sarah said nothing, her expression neutral, her face inscrutable. Then she slowly turned her back on Blood Rayne and continued walking toward Chuck.

Chuck's eyes widened. Turning her back on her opponent was probably the biggest insult Sarah could have hurled at Blood Rayne. It meant that she didn't perceive Blood Rayne as a threat. Didn't think she was worth talking to or even acknowledging. And Sarah's insult hit Blood Rayne hard.

"Hey, bitch," Blood Rayne shouted, "I'm talking to you." She hunched her shoulders and took a step after Sarah. Bennie reached out and put a huge hand on her shoulder, holding her back.

Blood Rayne turned her head toward Bennie. "Get your fucking hands off me, you moron," she yelled.

Bennie didn't move his hand. "Taggart won't back this play," he said. "You need to cool your jets, or there'll be hell to pay."

Blood Rayne huffed and glared at the big man. She pushed his hand off her shoulder, turned away and stalked off toward the other side of the room.

Bennie cast a glare toward Chuck, then turned and followed his charge.

Sarah reached Chuck and sat next to him, wiping more sweat from her face.

"That was fun," Chuck said.

Sarah just snorted and took another gulp of water.

Movement across the gym caught Chuck's eye. O'Flannery was standing at his office door waving at them, gesturing for them to come over. Chuck shoulder-bumped Sarah to get her attention, then pointed at O'Flannery. She turned back to Chuck, shrugged her shoulders, then rose with Chuck and walked around the room's perimeter toward O'Flannery's office.

"Good day to ya," O'Flannery said, his voice cheerful. "You got a minute for an old dodger?"

"Hey," Chuck said, "quit calling my friend old."

O'Flannery let out a laugh. "Chuck, me boy-o, you are a silver-tongued devil. Come in. Come in."

Sarah sat in the small chair. Chuck stood next to her while O'Flannery closed the door and went around his desk to sit in his chair.

"You met Terrance," O'Flannery said. It was a statement, not a question.

"We did," Sarah said. "He was wonderful. Dinner was wonderful. Everything was wonderful. Thank you so much."

O'Flannery raised an eyebrow and grinned. " _Everything_  was wonderful, you say. Sure, and you've made some progress, then?"

Chuck looked at Sarah, who was looking back at him. He hesitated, not wanting to make Sarah uncomfortable with his response.

Sarah turned back to O'Flannery. "Let's just say that … gifts were given and received."

O'Flannery's grin grew impossibly wide. "You make an old man's heart glad, you do."

Chuck smiled at O'Flannery. "Are you sure you're not some type or magical fae or leprechaun or something? Casting spells to help wayward people find their way."

The old man smiled, then gave Chuck an exaggerated wink.

All three of them laughed at that.

After a few beats O'Flannery sobered. "Chuck, may I ask you a question?"

"Sure," Chuck said.

"Have you made your wagers on the tournament yet?"

Chuck shot a quick glance at Sarah. "No, not yet."

"Good," O'Flannery said. "That's good."

"Why is that good?" Chuck asked.

"Because if you haven't made any bets on Sarah, that means she can drop out and you won't lose your deposit. You can wager on other fighters — have an opportunity to win, or at least cut your losses."

Chuck saw Sarah stiffen. "Drop-out?" she said.

"' _Gifts were given and received.'_ Did you not just say that?" O'Flannery asked.

"Yeah, but-"

O'Flannery cut her off. "Lassie, you don't need this anymore. You've got something better." He nodded toward Chuck.

Chuck watched as Sarah bit her bottom lip. Then she said, "But you've already placed a bet. A lot of money. On me." She gave Chuck a worried look, then turned back to O'Flannery. "If I drop out, you'll lose it all. I can't let that happen."

O'Flannery's expression grew stern. "Now, don't you go worrying your silly heads over an old fool like me. I'll be just fine. You have to go. No need to put yourself in harm's way." He shook his head, then added, "Not that I don't have confidence in ya, Lass, but it's folly to tempt the fates. You two have something to fight for that's more important than any fight on Taggart's docket. Do an old man a favor and get out of here. Tonight. Go and be happy together."

"I … can't do that," Sarah said, her voice almost a whisper.

O'Flannery turned to Chuck. "Lad, can you talk some sense into her?"

Chuck didn't respond. He kept watching Sarah, feeling the anguish that was obviously roiling inside her.

O'Flannery let out a huff. "Well, will ya at least consider it? Sleep on it?"

Sarah stared at O'Flannery for few seconds, then nodded. "Okay," she choked out.

"Right, then," O'Flannery said, pushing false energy into his voice. He stood and moved toward the door. "I've got a weight machine that needs adjusting." He opened the door and left the office.

Sarah looked up at Chuck and he rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

* * *

Late in the afternoon Chuck pulled the Mercedes into the drive through in front of the Glass House Hotel.

Sarah got out, pulled her duffel bag and backpack out of the back seat and set them on the ground.

As the valet approached Chuck said, "Just dropping off a guest. I'll only be a minute."

The valet nodded and moved off.

Chuck walked around the car and stood by Sarah. They both tilted their heads back, looking up at the hotel rising in front of them.

"Wow," Chuck said. "Vegas. A testament to overindulgence."

Sarah let out a snort. "Well, at least it's on Taggart's dime. This is probably the nicest place I've stayed at since …"

Sarah's voice drifted off. Her eyes closed as she took in a breath. She reached out and lightly grasped Chuck's forearm to steady herself as the memory flowed into her. A hotel room. Opulent. Soft, silk sheets. Feather pillows. Beautiful skyline visible through the window. A tower. The Eiffel tower. Paris. Chuck. All of Chuck. On her, in her, surrounding her. Making love. Professing love — finally. In love.

Heat coursed through Sarah as emotion swelled in her chest. She swayed a little, bracing herself against Chuck. Then she realized she was humming. Not necessarily a tune. More like a satisfied purr. Yes, definitely a purr.

Sarah opened her eyes to find Chuck looking at her. "Memory?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Paris?" he asked.

"Uh huh," she acknowledged.

"That's one of my favorite memories," he said.

Sarah grasped his arms and turned them both to face each other. She looked up at Chuck. His brown eyes were swirling with emotion, his desire and longing for her clear on his face. She shivered as the same feelings skittered through her. She reached up, wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her. His long arms went around her waist and he pulled her even closer.

In just a few minutes he would have to leave and she'd be — for all intents and purposes — locked-up for the next four days. She wouldn't be able to see his face, hear his voice or feel his touch. In the last couple of days she'd become familiar with all three, so much so that she couldn't think of anything else.

_This must have been what it was like before. Why the hell did I wait so long?_

She'd made a mistake last night — letting Chuck leave without kissing him. She wouldn't make that same mistake again.

Sarah stood up on her tiptoes as she gently pulled Chuck to her. She paused, their lips almost touching.

Chuck's eyes were soft and deep. The need in them palpable. "Are you sure?" he whispered.

The memory of Paris tickled the back of Sarah's mind. She smiled. "Shut up and kiss me, Chuck."

He did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Although this could a great ending to the story — leaving a lot to the reader's imagination (but maybe doing a better job at priming fans' imaginations about where Chuck and Sarah were heading, than the writers did in "Chuck versus The Goodbye") — it is NOT the end. There is still a bit of a journey left. After all, we haven't had much action, intrigue and danger — yet. But, never fear, that's coming. Thanks again for your patience and for reading. Please leave me a comment or a review. They really are appreciated and motivating.


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